


Chiaroscuro

by Master of Unlocking (Hikarinimichitasora)



Series: New York City Tales [2]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Allusions to Fantasy Racism, Alternative Universe - Canon, Asexuality Spectrum, Body Horror, Break the Haughty, Demisexual!Raphael, Detective Story, Drugs, Established Relationship, F/M, Femme Fatale, Film Noir, Gaslighting, Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Some first person, Story told out of order, Vampire Sex, dead bodies, implied dub-con, missing person's case, story told in flashback
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 77,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikarinimichitasora/pseuds/Master%20of%20Unlocking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People go missing in New York City every day. They disappear into the murky back alleys and either resurface in the Downworld or wash up in the Hudson. The thing is, Simon Lewis had already done both of those things. </p><p>When Simon fails to return to the Hotel Dumort, Raphael makes it his mission to discover the truth of what happened to Simon - one baffling clue at a time. He will find Simon, even if he has to accept <i>her</i> help. After all, people go missing in New York City every day, but they don’t all have a vampire and a Shadowhunter on the case.</p><p>Companion to Once Upon A Time In Brooklyn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The City of Vipers

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Saphael companion piece to Once Upon A Time in Brooklyn, a Malec fanfiction that is now complete. This fic has been designed to standalone, without readers having to read OUATIB to be able to gain enjoyment from it, though you may gain extra insights if you have read its companion fic. All you need to know is that Raphael and Simon have an established relationship and that Simon is already a vampire. The events of the story start at the end of Season 1 of Shadowhunters TV.
> 
> It is inspired heavily by film noir and detective stories, features a non-linear plot and has some aspects of first person narration to set the tone (note that this is only short passages and the majority of the action is third person). In many ways, this has been a labor of love and a greater test of my writing skill than OUATIB was. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Updates will be very regular until it is complete.
> 
> ((For those reading for Malec, or expecting a continuation of the OUATIB story, though you may find small pieces that enhance your enjoyment or answer some queries you had about that fic, this fanfiction explicitly will deal with relationship that grew between Raphael and Simon during that fanfiction and their own tale set in a completely different context. The two couples are different in their flavors, and I wanted to capture that. 
> 
> Magnus and Alec appear, but only for scenes where they are relevant. There are also some scenes that overlap between the two fics. I toyed with leaving them out, but then realised that they were vital to understanding the relationship between Raphael and Simon and so I copied them over. Hopefully, when they’re set in context, you’ll gain new insights into them.))

_ This city is a nest of vipers, where only the biggest, strongest snake gets out alive. The meek fall by the wayside, eaten by the demons and the mundane underbelly of society. Poison can seep even into the most pure-hearted man and there’s usually no one brave enough to help him suck it out. _

 

_ New York City leaves no one untouched. We all try to play snake charmer until one day, we end up either dead or something else, something darker that lurks in the night. _

 

_ I thought this city had done all it could to me, that it had poisoned every last drop of humanity I had left. _

 

_ Seems it had one last ounce left to pollute. _

 

*

 

Raphael looked the cover of the DVD skeptically. Simon had insisted that they watch the thing and he still wasn’t convinced. He discarded it onto his dressing table and opened the blinds ever so slightly.

 

If he had been in Brooklyn, he might have seen Manhattan glittering like a jewel, but their section of Spanish Harlem wasn’t famed for its views. Still, the venetian blinds let in a yellowed light that cast a striped pattern across his floor. It was the closest he’d get to sunlight again.

 

He glanced down at his watch.

 

Simon was late, and on Christmas Eve as well. Once upon a time, Raphael’s family had held Christmas Eve sacred. Dressed in his best suit, dragged to church by the ear and being forced to sit in the pews as the priest droned on and on. At the time he’d complained bitterly, been clipped round the ear and told to sit still until it was time for communion.

 

Now he would have given his right ear to listen to a Christmas sermon one more time.

 

He could probably suffer through it, but what would be the point? Neither Simon, nor any of his friends would be able to come with him. He’d be the monster amongst the flock, truly the only person who really didn’t belong in the House of God.

 

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to put on a suit though?

 

He turned and walked to his wardrobe, touching the expensive fabrics before selecting a black suit jacket that he particularly favored. He slid it over his shoulders and smoothed down the arms. Simon had borrowed this suit once. Raphael wasn’t the kind to smile to himself, but there was something softer around his eyes as he thought about it.

 

He had something important to ask Simon. He wanted to look appropriately serious when he asked it. Something his mother had drilled into him, and that had been reinforced by vampires, was that looking your best always worked to your advantage.

 

The night wore on.

 

Raphael eventually grew bored of watching the streets of Harlem and walked to his desk. Of course Simon chose tonight of all nights to be tardy. 

 

He sat down, drawing out the stationery that he kept there, and began to compose a letter.

 

He had taken to writing to Catarina Loss after Ragnor’s death. The habit of letter writing was so ingrained in him that when Ragnor was no longer alive to receive his letters, he had searched for another penpal to vent his frustrations to. Catarina Loss, still reeling after Ragnor’s unexpected death, had been an almost perfect match.

 

An hour passed. It was nearing midnight, well after the time that Simon should have returned from delivering Christmas decorations to Magnus’. Raphael pulled out his phone, checking for messages.

 

A few push notifications were all that greeted him. Apparently his stocks had risen due to excellent Christmas sales performances. He found little joy in it at the moment.

 

He ran a hand through his hair. He was being paranoid, but paranoia was what had kept him alive so far. He tried Simon’s number, but it only rang once before going to voicemail. Switched off.

 

He thought about selecting Magnus’ number, but then remembered Magnus’ usual ploy on Christmas Eve was to go out to some all-night rave and get himself wasted on expensive liquor. At the last second he slid his finger down and chose Magnus’ much more sensible boyfriend instead.

 

“Alec Lightwood,” Alec answered the phone almost immediately. Raphael didn’t really like Lightwood that much, especially not after he’d almost got Magnus killed on multiple occasions last year, but he was almost stupidly dependable for things like this.

 

“It’s Raphael,” he said. There was the sound of Alec shifting and Raphael knew he had Alec’s attention. He didn’t call about trivial things after all.

 

“What’s wrong?” Alec asked, as wonderfully to the point as ever.

 

“Simon isn’t back yet. Is he still at your apartment?” Raphael asked and he hoped he didn’t sound like an overly jealous boyfriend. He heard a small noise of confusion from Alec.

 

“He left about seven, maybe?” Alec replied. Raphael felt a sinking sensation in his gut.

 

“Did he say if he had any plans? Late Christmas shopping or anything?” Raphael asked and he began to pace his room, venetian blinds cutting sharp lines of light across his legs as he walked.

 

“I don’t think so. When Simon talks I tend not to listen too closely though. I’d have to think about it,” Alec replied, though there was concern leeching into his voice. “Raphael, is everything alright?”

 

Raphael knew in that moment that everything wasn’t.

 

“That’s all I needed to know. Thanks,” he said and ignored Alec trying to ask a question on the other end of the line as he hung up. He spent the next twenty minutes messaging everyone he could think of, anyone who might have bumped into Simon and distracted him or who Simon might have made last minute plans to see.

 

Clary, Isabelle, Magnus, the werewolf girl he seemed friendly with whom Raphael only had on Facebook and on a strict filter…

 

All of the replies came back nil.

 

They hadn’t seen Simon.

 

Wherever he was, he’d told no one. Or he hadn’t been able to.

 

The door opened and Raphael spun around quickly, ready to chew Simon out for making him worry. The vampire who stood there wasn’t Simon though.

 

“Just thought you should know that we took another blood bag down to Camille. She nearly scratched Billy’s face off,” the vampire said. Raphael rubbed his forehead.

 

“ _ Pendejo _ ,” Raphael muttered under his breath. “I’ve told you time and time again, don’t get close enough for her to touch you. We should have hooked her up to an IV when she was knocked out and been done with it.”

 

The vampire looked apologetic and Raphael waved him away.

 

Another problem he had to consider.

 

He closed the blinds. It wouldn’t do to forget and be trapped outside his room later. He drew the blackout curtains in front of them too, making sure that there was no way that sunlight could escape them.

 

Then he took to the streets.

 

He had a teenage vampire to find.

 

*

 

When the sun rose over New York City that morning, millions of people started their day with fresh hopes and dreams in their hearts. They ripped open Christmas presents and sang cheery jingles. They toasted each other and ate extravagantly. They constructed toys from baffling instructions and gave insincere thanks for another pair of socks with reindeers on.

 

Raphael Santiago, however, bolted the door of the Hotel Dumort with an air of finality.

 

He was alone.

 

*

 

It was almost too easy to kidnap the mundane. He was weak, nerdy and had the survival instinct of a lemming. Raphael had easily grabbed him from the shadowhunter’s group and taken off across the city.

 

Camille had taken a liking to him. She had a whole elaborate plot and Raphael had stopped listening after the first five minutes of her trying to explain it to him. He had no interest in mundanes or subjugates or Camille’s petty power play with the shadowhunters and Magnus Bane.

 

He lurked in the corner of the room until Camille was gone and purposefully ignored all the mundane’s questions. Camille had returned a few hours later with some kind of concoction that was almost certainly vampire blood.

 

It was then that Raphael realised he should have really paid attention. It was clear the mundane didn’t know what was happening, and Raphael wasn’t about to have the shadowhunters sniffing around the Hotel Dumort looking for a mundane that Camille had decided to make one of them on a whim.

 

“Camille, I just got a message. Magnus Bane is at your residence,” Raphael lied, crossing the room quickly. The mundane backed away from him quickly. In the dark it had probably been hard to tell he was there, Raphael guessed. Perhaps the mundane had simply forgotten he was there, as Camille’s encanto worked it’s magic.

 

“Magnus? Oh, well, I mustn’t keep him waiting,” Camille said, rising to her feet and sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Keep Simon warm for me, won’t you?”

 

Raphael looked at the mundane, ‘Simon’, and sighed. Camille swept out of the room, her hips swaying exaggeratedly. It seemed that Simon was most enamoured with the way that they moved.

 

“She’s a vampire,” Raphael reminded him. “You should remember that.”

 

Simon blinked and looked up at him, shaking off the last dregs of power that Camille had over him. Raphael could hear his heartbeat, rapid and unsteady, the way his breath sped up in fear.

 

Simon scrambled to his feet and made a dash for the door. Raphael rolled his eyes and in seconds he had the mundane trapped again, forcing him back onto the couch and pinning him there.

 

“The lady said you’re going to stay here,” Raphael said, leaning in close and letting his fangs show. “And unless you do exactly what I say, when I say to do it, you actually  _ will _ still be here when she gets back.”

 

Simon looked confused and Raphael wondered if he’d have to explain it all over again using small words.

 

“I’ll help you escape. But not right now,” Raphael repeated. Simon’s large brown eyes fixed on him, pupils dilated from the apparent terror coursing through his veins.

 

Raphael caught the scent of his blood. It was strong, young, almost heady. He would surely taste delicious…

 

He jerked backwards, taking a few steps away to make sure there was plenty of space between himself and the mundane. If he bit Simon now, a new vampire would be made regardless of Raphael’s intentions. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself.

 

“Why would you help me escape?” Simon asked. Raphael raised an eyebrow.

 

“Why do you care?” he asked. Simon held up his hands, a gesture of peace that left him vulnerable. Raphael wondered if he realised that, like that, he was almost showing off his pulse points to a creature that could rip through his arterial vein with its teeth in seconds.

 

“I’m just curious as to why you’re suddenly down with helping me, that’s all,” Simon replied, lowering his hands to sit on them awkwardly. Raphael realised he truly was just an awkward teenager and he sighed.

 

“I protect my own,” Raphael replied. “What Camille is doing is more than just politics. It’s illegal.”

 

Simon frowned and Raphael gave up on trying to explain anything. The shadowhunters hadn’t even taught him about the Accords or the rules that governed the Downworld. He certainly wasn’t going to be his teacher.

 

“Just get ready to run on my command, blood bag,” he said. Simon took a deep breath and then nodded.

 

“Alright,” he agreed.

 

Relieved, Raphael waited on the other side of the room until he heard the shadowhunters footsteps outside. He grabbed Simon and, with a little acting skill and some posturing, delivered him into the hands of his friends. When Camille came back and asked him what had happened, he shrugged and said the shadowhunters had overpowered him and left it at that.

 

*

 

"Dinner's here!" Raphael saw the mundane shiver. Honestly, he had some nerve coming back to the Hotel Dumort after having been helped out of it so graciously last time. Even so, he could tell why the shadowhunters had brought Simon along. They clearly thought that there was some kind of bond between them. Raphael would be happy to disavow  _ that _ notion.

"Is Camille here?" Simon asked. Raphael let his gaze slide over to the shadowhunter with him. Wayland, his hand already on his blade and ready to slay them all.

"It's Daytime. She's asleep. Like I would be if you hadn't triggered every alarm in the hotel," Raphael replied. He walked to the couch, carefully arranging himself on it in the most practiced way he could to show that no matter what Wayland did, it wouldn’t scare him.

"You're the one who asked for the Clave's help," Wayland said in his pig-headed tone. Raphael bared his teeth, just a casual reminder to both of them of who they were dealing with.

 

The mundane actually looked a little frightened. That was amusing.

"I have to protect my people. And if there's someone out there making new werewolves, I want to put a stop to it. I won't have the packs growing stronger, ignored by the Clave, while we vampires have to skulk in the shadows, powerless to stop them," Raphael parrotted, putting an arm over his face. It was actually just a verbatim copy of the speech Camille had given earlier. He had no desire to speak to these shadowhunters, or their pet mundane.

"So... Where's your evidence that there are werewolves attacking Mundanes?" Simon asked and Raphael was impressed because even though he smelled terrified, he was actually prepared to grow a spine. "Because really, you guys aren't exactly hunky dory on the whole 'attacking a Mundane' business. I mean, I'm walking proof of that one."

 

Raphael couldn’t believe it. The mundane was actually accusing him of breaking the Accords, just like that. It seemed he’d finally learned what they were at least. His interest piqued.

 

He let the power of his encanto roll out lazily, brushing against the mundane’s senses with the lightest of touches. He wondered what the mundane’s reaction would truly be.

"If you remember, I protected you from our own that time. I am not one to mess with the Accords," he said, getting to his feet and giving Simon a long look. The mundane actually took a few steps forward before the shadowhunter reached out to stop him. Raphael dropped the encanto, amused.

"You're a regular Saint," Wayland said as he gave the back of Simon’s head a concerned look. Raphael let the smirk stretch across his face. It never hurt to remind people that they  _ should _ be afraid of vampires like him.

"Evidence Raphael. What's your evidence?" Simon had clearly come back to his senses. A shame it had happened so soon. Raphael turned away, listening to the rapid, terrified heartbeat of the mundane.

 

He suddenly remembered how good Simon had smelled and pushed down on that thought hard. He should probably have had more of a snack before the shadowhunters arrived.

"Mutilated corpse was dumped in our parking lot yesterday, probably just after dark. Certainly looks like an animal took a few bites out of it," Raphael explained. "It's in the back if you guys want to take a look?"

Wayland was already moving when Raphael turned back round, but Simon was frozen in place, clearly not sure what was the right move to make.

"I'm not going to bite you. Shadowhunter, go sort out the corpse. Mundane, just sit down so you don't look like you're cluttering up the place," Raphael ordered. Just like that, Simon sat down. Raphael hid a laugh by turning his head away. He hadn’t even had to use encanto.

"He even moves the slightest bit in a bad way, and you get out of here and phone Alec, okay?" Wayland warned and Raphael couldn’t hide his laugh at that. As if he would be so dumb as to attack a mundane right in front of a shadowhunter? And as if the Lightwood brat would be able to get there before any irreparable damage had already been done.

"Like Magnus' little pet Shadowhunter would come running here to save a Mundane anyway," Raphael replied, mostly for something to say. The look Wayland gave him was worth the expended breath.

 

The shadowhunter left, grip tight on his seraph blade and shoulders tense. Raphael went to the fire, staring down at it. They should really clean the floo. The room had become a little smoky.

Silence reigned for a while, until Simon’s fidgeting became too much for Raphael to bear. He turned from where he stood by the fire to look at Simon directly.

"I hear you've all been helping Magnus Bane. Quite something to get the Shadowhunters to help a Downworlder," Raphael said. "Makes people nervous."

"I think it's Clary and Alec mostly," Simon said after an awkward pause that made it clear he’d been searching for the words. "They're closest to him."

 

Raphael reached onto the mantlepiece and thought for a moment. While he’d been joking about Magnus’ little crush on the Lightwood earlier, he hadn’t thought that any Lightwood male would ever be taken in by someone as showy as Magnus. Not considering the… leanings of their parents.

"Fray, that makes sense. The Lightwood heir? Less so. I'd have thought his sister was more of a Magnus fan," Raphael said. The way Simon was tapping his feet on the ground annoyed him almost more than he could bear.

"I think it's more that Magnus is an Alec Lightwood fan," Simon replied and Raphael nodded. That made a degree of sense. Much more sense than a Lightwood giving up his runes to be with a Downworlder.

"Surprising no one. Magnus has a thing about falling for things that will hurt him in the end," Raphael said, for a moment forgetting who he was talking to and reaching for the poker to stir up the fire. As the embers sparked he realised he had probably said too much. Damn, this mundane was so innocent seeming he sometimes forgot that any information he told him would no doubt get straight back to the Institute.

"Why are people nervous about Alec helping Magnus though? Surely it's a good thing? It shows that the Clave is finally taking Downworlders as seriously as they take Mundanes and other Shadowhunters?" Simon looked genuinely confused. Raphael wasn’t sure why he bothered to explain, or at least he couldn’t be honest with himself about it. It had been years since he’d seen someone struggling to understand and accept the Shadow World. He had forgotten how much there was to be understood.

"Or it shows that Shadowhunters are once again going to start meddling in our affairs unasked for and with impunity," Raphael explained. "We have our own ways to deal with things like this. Now that Shadowhunters are involved however, everything has got to be above board... Well as much as anything the Clave does is above board."

"You mean like a Downworlder kangaroo court?" Simon asked. Raphael smiled, humorlessly. The mundane was more astute than he let on.

"In your Mundane world, you get a trial by your peers, do you not? It's the same principle only slightly less official. Downworlders should judge Downworlders. Shadowhunters should judge Shadowhunters. Mundanes should judge Mundanes," Raphael said. Simon shook his head.

"That's just separatist," he argued. "Nothing will ever change that way."

"It's better than the alternative. No one wants to see the old days back again..." Raphael said, thinking back to the time when vampires, werewolves, all of them had been hunted like they were not even living, thinking creatures.

Wayland returned, the conversation moved on, but Raphael did not forget. He did not forget the look in Simon’s eyes.

 

A look that was almost like understanding.

 

It didn’t stop him messing with him before he went though. After all, even if he didn’t dislike the mundane, it wouldn’t be good to have him thinking he could just turn up to the Hotel Dumort whenever now, would it?

 

*

 

_ The night Simon Lewis disappeared, it was like every memory I had of him resurfaced. The bitter and the sweet, my own failings and his, rising in my mind and clashing inside me like waves in a storm. My thoughts were disjointed, scattered. I knew what things went bump in the night in New York, and I knew that anything that had managed to take Simon was stronger than most. _

 

_ I knew that it was going to be my job to find him… I just didn’t expect to need  _ her _ help. _


	2. The Lady In Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You lost Simon?!” Clary asked and she took a step forward. Raphael instinctively took a step away from her. He had seen her dust enough of his brethren to not want to give her the chance to get close to him when she was distraught.
> 
> “I don’t keep him on a leash, Fairchild,” he snapped. Isabelle gave him a slow smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER!!!!
> 
> This chapter includes Bluebeard (for those who read OUATIB - there won't be many more chapters that copy-paste so much like this but this really needed to be included). For those that have just joined me, this is a really, really graphically violent chapter.

_ Going to the Institute for help is the last resort of any vampire. He only does that when he’s seriously desperate. But I was desperate. Simon didn’t drag himself in the night after, or the night after that. _

 

_ It became clear he was truly missing, and I couldn’t cover the whole city by myself even with the help of every vampire under my care. It was dangerous. I needed the Institute and the technology it offered. I needed people who would be able to walk in daylight if I was ever going to find my... _

 

_ Well, that’s not important. _

 

_ I expected them to be assholes. I guess I just didn’t realize how big an asshole Robert Lightwood could be when he was given the opportunity. _

 

*

 

“Raphael Santiago,” the guard who escorted the shadowhunters out of the Institute to meet with him announced in clipped tones. Raphael could almost smell the derision from him. He expected no less from shadowhunters though. The Children of the Night were no more welcome in the Institute than the Nephilim were in the Hotel Dumort.

 

“Raphael? What are you doing here?”

 

That was Clary Fairchild. Her red hair was pulled back from her face. She’d adopted the shadowhunter’s black much more readily when it turned out that her father was behind some of the worst atrocities ever recorded in the history of the Clave. Raphael guessed she probably felt she had a lot of apologising to do.

 

He understood that sentiment.

 

“I need your help,” he said. The others were coming out now. Alec Lightwood, tall, dark-haired and serious-looking and his sister, Isabelle, fierce and strong. No Jace Wayland. He was gone for the time being, doing whatever it was Circle members did. Raphael had no desire to discover what it was exactly.

 

“Help?” Clary repeated and Raphael wondered if all shadowhunters had hearing problems. He always found himself repeating himself around them.

 

“Yes, your help,” he said. Clary descended the steps of the Institute, shortly followed by the Lightwoods. She stood on the edge of the hallowed ground, probably subconsciously taking refuge in it’s wards, though Raphael knew she probably would never admit to it.

 

“What’s the problem? Wouldn’t you normally go to Magnus with this?” Alec asked and Raphael sneered. Of course, that  _ particular _ Lightwood’s first thought would be to go to his boyfriend as though it would make it all better.

 

“You think I haven’t asked Magnus already? He’s useless to me. I need your resources,” he said and folded his arms. It hurt his pride to do this, it hurt his pride to admit that he couldn’t do it alone, but he needed them if he was going to find Simon.

 

“By the Angel, spit it out,” Isabelle demanded. Raphael let his shoulders sag, letting out a long breath.

 

“Simon’s missing,” he said. “I can’t find him anywhere and Magnus can’t track him.”

 

“You lost Simon?!” Clary asked and she took a step forward. Raphael instinctively took a step away from her. He had seen her dust enough of his brethren to not want to give her the chance to get close to him when she was distraught.

 

“I don’t keep him on a leash, Fairchild,” he snapped. Isabelle gave him a slow smile.

 

“Though if you did, you wouldn’t be having this problem,” she said. Raphael gave her a look that would have soured milk.

 

“This is serious, Lightwood Thing 2. I’ve searched every vampire den and safe house for our kind in the city. No one has seen him. No one knows where he is,” Raphael explained. “And if not even Magnus can track him, we have to admit that there’s something very wrong with this.”

 

The shadowhunters looked at each other and then finally Clary nodded, clearly having agreed something with herself.

 

“We’ll go to Maryse and Robert. Get them to open a case,” she said. Raphael inclined his head in thanks.

 

Clary ran back up the steps, Alec in close pursuit. Only Isabelle stayed, a well-manicured hand on her hip as she surveyed him.

 

“Simon means a lot to you. More than just as a passing fancy,” she said and waited for him to deny it. When he didn’t she smiled. “Well, what do you know? I guess true love bites us all in the end.”

 

“Don’t compare me to  _ them _ ,” Raphael snapped, gesturing vaguely towards the Institute. Isabelle laughed, a small laugh that sounded almost a little bit bitter.

 

“Raphael, you can only dream of that kind of happily ever after,” she said and with a swish of her hips, she walked inside.

 

*

 

_ It isn’t the first time I’d nearly lost Simon. It had happened before. Twice. _

 

_ But the one that stuck in my mind was that cursed room, that supernatural spectre that had come at us out of nowhere. _

 

_ It was back when Magnus was cursed and Simon was still mortal. I guess I haven’t explained that one yet. Last year, Magnus Bane, you know the High Warlock of Brooklyn, he was cursed to live out fairy tales until he found his true love.  _

 

_ Of course, they were gruesome. No one in this city would get the pretty ones. And no matter how twee the ending of his story was, those fairy tales were nothing to mess about with. _

 

_ Simon got himself caught up in one that was particularly grim, involving Magnus’ date who just so happened to be a psychotic, ghostly serial killer. _

 

*

 

The mundane was loitering around outside the hotel like a goddamn delivery meal. Raphael wasn’t sure when he’d become so attuned to his scent, but he could smell him almost pungently. He exited the hotel, watching him for a moment before making his presence known.

 

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

 

Of course the dumb mundane tripped over his own feet in shock. Raphael watched, for a moment seriously considering letting him fall down the fire escape to his death but at the last minute changed his mind. He did  _ not _ want the hassle of the redheaded shadowhunter turning up at his home demanding vengeance for what had been Simon’s own clumsy accident.

 

He grabbed Simon’s shirt, pulling him back on balance.

 

"I was looking for you," Simon said once he’d got his wits about him again. Raphael tried to hold back his disbelief at that but the seriousness in the mundane’s tone told him that this wasn’t a social call. He looked over his shoulder. He could hear other vampires making their way to the stairs. They could smell mundane.

 

"We can't talk here. If Camille even catches a whiff of you, we're going to be dealing with your friends at the Institute on a much more personal level," Raphael said, grabbing Simon's shoulder and steering him back down the staircase.

 

"There's an all-night diner called Taki's in Manhattan. Use Google Maps to find it. Go there and wait for me," Raphael ordered. He was pleased that Simon seemed to take him at his word. So different from dealing with shadowhunters that he wondered if any of their Shadow World savviness had rubbed off on him at all.

 

Raphael waited until he was out of sight before going to find his motorbike. He revved the engine before taking off in the direction of Taki’s.

 

He waited for what seemed like an age for the mundane to arrive, late and shivering and with worry coming off him in waves. He listened to the story, listened to Simon’s concerns that Magnus was in way over his head, and inwardly scoffed.

 

He was not Magnus’ emergency ‘my date went wrong’ hotline.

 

If it weren’t for the fact that Simon seemed so convinced by it, he would have blown it off.

 

But he owed Magnus, and in a small way, he owed Simon too.

 

Agreeing to go though, was perhaps one of the most stupid things he’d agreed to do in his immortal life.

 

"No lights on," Simon said, peering up at the house that the address pointed to. Raphael narrowed his eyes, trying to see if the house was glamoured in any way. There were no glamours, but something didn't seem right anyway.

 

"Maybe they're already up to the good stuff?" Simon suggested, sounding hopeful. Raphael was still trying to make out something through the windows when the wind changed direction.

 

The smell was almost overwhelming. Freshly spilled blood, the smell of putrefaction, the scent of fear, all hitting his nose at once and making him stagger backwards.

 

"Sh-shit," he covered his nose, looking at the house once more with a kind of horror. He'd never smelled something that bad before. There must be a good number of bodies inside the house for it to stink that badly.

 

And fresh blood. Fresh blood meant that there'd soon be another victim.

 

"What's wrong?" Simon was asking. Raphael wanted to ask him if he could smell it, but he knew that Camille's blood in the Mundane's veins had long since worn off.

 

"You were right. There's something wrong with that house," he choked out, wiping his eyes which had started to water from the smell. Simon immediately turned back to the house.

 

"Should we go in?" He asked, sounding for all the world like he wanted Raphael to say no. Raphael cleared his throat, trying to ignore the smell.

 

"If we wait for your Shadowhunters to get here from Manhattan, we might be too late. I can smell old bodies and some recently spilled blood. If Magnus is not dead already, he might soon be," Raphael said. Simon seemed to need no further prompting. He ran up to the door, hunched over as though to make himself seem small.

 

Raphael followed, trying to shake the feeling that they were being watched already.

 

Simon turned the doorknob and the door swung open, inwards. He turned to look at Raphael, who nodded forward with his chin. Simon took a few steps inside, Raphael hot on his heels.

 

It was dark inside. Raphael tried the light switch on the wall, but the power was completely cut. He guessed he was lucky to be a vampire and have excellent night vision, but Simon seemed to be having worse luck. His eyes were squinting into the darkness, trying to take in the room.

 

Raphael did the same. He realised the reason he hadn't been able to make out much through the windows was because they had been boarded up from the inside, their curtains pinned against the glass. He walked over to one, looking at it curiously.

 

All the gaps between the boards were lined with razor blades or razor wire. Nowhere was a space left large enough for a hand to escape without it being ripped to ribbons by the blades.

 

There was blood on them.

 

Raphael leaned forward, sniffing at it. It smelled familiar. Magnus .

 

He was about to tell Simon what he'd found when there was a loud bang.

 

Simon swore loudly, spinning around. The door, which they had both left open, was now shut. The wind had caught it, presumably, as there was no one else there. Simon immediately ran towards it, grabbing the handle before Raphael could call out a warning.

 

The barbed wire around the handle tore Simon's skin. Raphael could smell the blood that dripped from his palm. He felt his nostrils flair. He'd fed already, luckily for Simon, but still, to have fresh blood spilled so close to him...

 

"Fuck!" Simon pulled his hand back, holding it against his body dazedly, as though not sure what to do with it. Raphael knew that he had to act quickly. Whoever had baited this trap almost certainly knew they were in the house now.

 

"Here," Raphael said, handing Simon a handkerchief. Simon took it, wrapping it around his hand a few times before tying it in a knot.

"Come on, we need to move," Raphael said when he was done, grabbing the Mundane's uninjured hand and pulling him towards the back of the house. It was a long shot, but perhaps the back door was unlocked?

 

"What do you think this is?" Simon whispered to him as Raphael walked them quickly to the back of the house. Raphael didn't want to think about it too much.

 

"I'm guessing that this is a trap. And we were baited and caught by it, the same as Magnus. And from the smell earlier, I'd say we aren't the first victims here," he said softly. He could hear Simon's heart racing in fear.

 

The back door was clearly boarded up when they reached it. Simon stared at it dumbly.

 

"How do we get out?" He asked. Raphael shook his head. It was then that he heard it, the sound of footfalls on stairs.

 

"Raph-"

 

"Sh!" Raphael, slammed his hand over Simon's mouth. He had no desire to meet the person who owned this house. Whoever it was, they'd got the best of Magnus. If the Warlock had been resorted to using his hands to try to rip the boards off the windows, then Raphael could only guess how powerful their foe was.

 

"That way! Quietly! Go!" Raphael said, pointing out the other door out of the kitchen that led to the lounge and back to the front door. He could taste Simon's fear sweat in the air as the other began to edge towards the lounge door. Raphael backed up after him, keeping his eyes on the other door to the kitchen.

 

A large shape was walking purposefully down the hall, but even with night vision, it was impossible to entirely make out the identity of the person. Raphael felt Simon freeze behind him. Trust the Mundane's flight or fight instincts to give out at this point.

 

He grabbed Simon's shoulder and shoved him into the lounge.

 

"Run!" He hissed at the same moment as he became aware the footsteps had stopped in the kitchen. He heard the sound of Simon getting to his feet, of him scrambling away, just as he felt the sharp slice of something down his back.

 

He turned away from the blade. The pain was minimal, it didn't bother him, but clearly the man had expected him to go down from it. He saw the man's amused smirk. He was attractive with a few days stubble, his beard salt and pepper flecked.

 

He was also covered in blood from head to toe, splattered across his crazed features.

He smelled like blood and Magnus Bane.

 

"Where did you take Magnus?" Raphael asked. The man smiled.

 

"The Blue Room, with the others. And soon you'll be there too. Though I didn't expect a vampire, admittedly," he said. Raphael cursed. He had hoped that this was a Mundane who wouldn't know any of his weaknesses.

 

He backed up but the man was fast, faster than he should have been. Just what was he? He managed to grab Raphael's wrist and twist it, forcing the vampire to drop. The moment he was on his knees he felt it, a rosary sliding around his hands. He hissed as the beads began to burn his skin.

 

"I've never had a vampire before, but you always have to be prepared," the man said. Raphael struggled to get his legs back under him, lashing out to try and kick the other. The man, however, poured something on him that at first just felt like cool water, but then began to burn.

 

Raphael began to scream as his flesh began to peel off his face.

 

When Raphael came to again, he was alone, bound on the floor with cable ties. He didn’t even pause to think before dislocating his thumb and forcing his hands out of their bindings.

 

Simon was somewhere alone with that madman and Raphael was more sure than ever that he wasn’t human. Whatever danger Magnus had got himself into was far beyond anything Raphael had imagined.

 

Raphael heard sounds coming from beneath the stairwell and got to his feet as quickly as he could. He took the stairs to the basement three at a time, almost stumbling down them in his haste. What he saw when he reached the bottom turned even his stomach.

 

Blood everywhere, rusty instruments that looked like they’d been used for torture, a young man’s body hanging from the ceiling, blood dripping from his neck like he’d been slaughtered for meat.

 

And on the floor, Simon, bleeding out while someone hovered over him, clicking their fingers and cursing up a storm.

 

“Magnus! Is that you?” Raphael shouted. Magnus looked at him.

 

"Raphael! We're down here you have to help me-" Magnus began but Raphael saw the man, their attacker, stirring. Magnus must have knocked him out briefly, but not long enough for them to escape.

 

"Magnus! Look out!" Raphael cried. It was enough time for Magnus to roll away from a blade that would have buried itself in his spine. The man kept lunging for Magnus, who had to leap and twist to avoid the blade.

 

"Get Simon!" Magnus yelled. Raphael didn’t pause. Now wasn’t the time to question anything, or play hero. If they worked together, perhaps, just perhaps, they would all get out of this.

 

Simon opened his eyes, took one look at Raphael’s face and started to scream. For a moment, Raphael couldn’t process what was happening, then he realised that he was still disfigured from the holy water.

 

"Simon! Stop struggling! It's me!" he said, hoping more than anything that Simon recognised his voice. It was like all the fight left him immediately.

 

"You look like... Colossal... Titan..." Simon said, almost dreamily. Raphael had no idea what to make of that.

 

"Magnus! I've got him!" he called before turning on his heel and starting to run up the stairs. There was an unholy sound that made all the hairs on the back of Raphael’s neck stand on end before suddenly Magnus was hot at his heels.

 

"Move, move, move, move!" Magnus yelled. Raphael glanced back at him.

 

"I'm going as fast as I can! Do you want to carry him?" he asked, trying to make sure that he got his feet under him.

 

"Oh god he's going to get us!" Magnus said, his voice panicked.

 

"Magnus will you-" Raphael began but then there was the sound of  a thud and he turned to see Magnus had fallen and that their assailant had grabbed hold of Magnus’ leg. The warlock was screaming rather ineffectually.

 

Raphael reacted on instinct, dropping Simon’s body to the ground and booting the man repeatedly in the face until his nose smashed and he went tumbling down the stairs.

 

"Get up!" Raphael ordered. Magnus seemed to shaken to stand.

 

"I'm trying!" Magnus said and then he saw Simon, laid out on the staircase where Raphael had dropped him. "We need him on his feet again, Raphael!"

 

"Well, heal him!" Raphael snapped back. Magnus gave him a look that clearly said he thought Raphael was an idiot.

 

"My magic doesn't work in the curses you idiot! Do you think I'd have hands like this if I could heal myself? Or that I'd have been caught-"

 

"Less talking more moving Bane!" Raphael realised that if he let Magnus really build up steam, it would only be a matter of time before they were caught again.

 

They climbed the last of the stairs and Magnus slammed the door shut behind them, trying to build a makeshift barricade as fast as he could. Even so, the door was almost at it’s limit.

 

"It won't hold him for long," Magnus said, backing away from the door. "We need a way out."

 

"Magnus... He's not going to last," Raphael realised. He could hear that Simon’s heart was weakened, that his body was giving up and shutting down. It would be a matter of minutes, maybe ten at most, before the boy died.

 

"I haven't got any magic to heal him. Not until this curse is done," Magnus replied, walking forward and looking down at Simon with a look of panic.

 

Raphael weighed his options. There was almost no guarantee they would make it out of this alive, but they needed Simon to function. They needed him to be able to move of his own accord. They needed him to be able to follow commands, even with his blood starved brain.

 

"Fuck. We have no choice. I hope this works," Raphael said, pulling Simon against his chest. "Simon, drink this." 

 

Raphael bit into his wrist, blood starting to ooze from the wound immediately. He held it against Simon’s mouth and was dismayed when Simon immediately turned away.

 

"No... No I don't want to be a vampire..." He protested weakly. Raphael didn’t have time for this, not when the door seemed to be able to break down at any moment.

 

"You won't be a vampir-" he tried to reassure Simon but the other just grew more restless.

 

"No!"

 

"Raphael, use your encanto ," Magnus hissed at him. 

 

Raphael didn’t want to. He didn’t want to force Simon to do this, something he would never have wished on anyone. Yet they couldn’t escape this otherwise.

 

He didn’t hold back this time, letting the encanto seize Simon like a snake devouring a mouse. It swallowed Simon’s free will whole. He felt Simon shudder against him and then go slack.

 

"Drink," he ordered again. This time Simon did as he was asked. Raphael waited a moment before he nodded to Magnus. Simon’s heart beat was already strengthening slightly due to the vampire blood.

 

"Ready," Raphael said. He kept his encanto trained on Simon, as strong as he could make it. Just in case.

 

"How fast will it work on him?" Magnus inquired, shoving another chair against the door.

 

"It's already working. He's going to feel like superman for a bit, but he's still mortal. The blood loss is going to kill him. He needs a hospital," Raphael hissed.

 

"I need a hospital," Simon agreed, his voice sounding drugged. Raphael winced. It sounded too much like the voice of a subjugate. He hated it.

 

"Up. We can try and get out from the second floor," Magnus suggested. Raphael didn’t need telling twice and he began to run to the staircase, Simon following almost immediately after.

 

There was a shudder on the staircase as they started walking up it.

 

Raphael leaned over the banister to see that the man had got through, looking around for them. He gave Simon’s shoulder a push, forcing him ahead, forcing him to run with the encanto. He followed after Simon blindly, hoping against hope that there was some kind of exit up there.

 

Unfortunately, it seemed that Simon had led them to a dead end.

 

It was a child’s bedroom, with no escape and nothing substantial to barricade the door with.

 

"Oh for god's sake. This is why encanto was a bad idea!" Raphael yelled. He managed to shut the door behind Magnus just as a knife thunked into the wood.

 

Raphael turned around to see Simon was shredding his hands on the razor-wired windows.

 

"Shit!" he said and ran over to Simon, trying to stop the mundane from severing anymore of his precious arteries. But Simon held on strong to the planks of wood, his strength enhanced by vampire blood. The more Raphael pulled, the tighter his fingers got until the wood splintered in his grasp, coming away.

 

Raphael let go and watched as Simon, trancelike, smashed through the glass.

 

He shouldn’t have been able to act by himself. The encanto should have been too strong.

 

But he had.

 

Raphael pushed that thought away for later. They didn’t have time to wonder about the strength of Simon’s mind.

 

"Well, that’s one way to do it. Can you survive that jump?" Raphael asked Magnus, realising he still had hold of Simon’s other wrist. Blood was dripping onto the floor and Raphael tried to hold back the urge to lick it up.

 

"We'll find out," Magnus said, climbing onto the window frame and kicking out some of the leftover glass. For a moment he hung there, coiled like a cat, before he leapt. He hit the ground and rolled almost from the porch to the middle of the street. A car swerved to miss him.

 

"Your turn," Raphael said once Magnus was clear and shoved Simon's towards the window.

 

"My turn," Simon agreed sleepily and, following Magnus' example, he launched himself from the window. Raphael felt the encanto break the moment that Simon hit the ground, the exploding pain cutting through any other mental meddling Raphael could have done.

 

It didn’t matter. He had to get out of there. The door was crashing open. He jumped onto the window ledge and quickly transformed into mist, swirling down to the ground, before transforming back quickly, being sure that his boots didn’t land near Simon’s head.

 

He grabbed Simon, carrying him bridal style away from the house as fast as he could. He got to the center of the street and knelt down, relinquishing Simon to the ground. He turned to see that Magnus was repeated clicking his fingers, a raging inferno springing from his fingertips and devouring the house.

 

Raphael could hear Simon’s heart starting to stutter again.

 

"Magnus never mind that right now!" he hissed. Magnus turned to him suddenly and visibly shook himself. He strode over in a few quick steps, raising his hands.

 

"Here's nothing. This isn’t going to feel like a love tap," he warned and Simon began to scream. Raphael had only heard screams like it once in his life, in memories he had long since repressed. He subconsciously drew Simon against him, trying to hold his body through the spasms, trying to hush him, stroking his face and trying to ground him.

 

"There. He's better. But I couldn't do anything about the vampire blood you gave him. That's beyond my ability to heal," Magnus said, lowering his hands and looking pale and dizzy himself. 

 

Raphael was about to respond when he felt Simon grab onto his nose. He looked down in shock.

 

"What did you two do to me?" Simon asked. His breath smelled like Raphael’s blood.

 

"We saved your life," Raphael said and then he rolled onto the ground, exhausted, staring up at the light polluted sky and wondering how much he must have pissed off God before he got to fifteen to have landed an eternity with people like these.

 

*

 

“The Clave reached a decision.”

 

Isabelle Lightwood was wearing a red dress that hugged every curve she possessed. As she walked down the steps of the Institute, her high heels clicked on the ground. Steel capped. She was a woman who shouldn’t be messed with.

 

“And?” Raphael asked, impatient. Isabelle shook her head.

 

“They can’t spare the shadowhunters. The war against Valentine takes precedent,” she said. Raphael cursed and kicked the curb.

 

“Alec can’t act out, he’s already on thin ice after my parents found out about him and Magnus. Clary is under close watch because her father is Valentine. But they’re going to cover for me,” Isabelle continued. Raphael turned to look at her.

 

“What?” he asked, disbelieving. Isabelle held her hand out between them.

 

“We are going to find Simon, together,” she said firmly. Raphael looked at the outstretched hand and then, reluctantly, he took it, shaking it once and then letting go.

 

“Let’s start by establishing Simon’s last whereabouts shall we?” Isabelle suggested, letting her hand drop back to her side and gesturing for Raphael to lead the way.

 

He did, but he couldn’t help but feel that somehow, with Isabelle as his partner, he was going to be left behind.

 

*

 

_ In this city, there’s a type of woman that you don’t cross. You can’t tell her by the clothes she wears, or the make up on her face, or the amount of money in her pocket; it’s something in her very being that makes you feel like you would be a fool to say no to her. _

 

_ My mother was one such woman. _

 

_ Isabelle Lightwood was another. _


	3. An Unestablished Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t aware of turning over, but he felt Simon go still, trying to hold it back, trying to rein in his pain.
> 
> Raphael just rested his hand on Simon’s arm, awkwardly rubbing it. Simon shuddered, allowing himself weakness for a moment longer.

_ The thing about tracing someone’s last movements is that it never just tells a single story. You see, there’s the physical evidence they leave behind when they move - CCTV footage, card purchases - and then there’s the other evidence they leave. _

  


_ The people they spoke to that day. _

  


_ Ask five people about the same scene, they’ll tell you five stories, but none of those will be the same. _

  


_ That’s why it was so difficult to find out what happened to Simon. The truth was, no one knew the full picture. _

  


*

  


“Okay, so let’s establish when we both last saw Simon,” Isabelle said. She was sat at Raphael’s desk, her hair swept over one shoulder as she drew one of his pens out of its case. He withheld the urge to growl at her and tell her to put it back.

  


He needed her help.

  


“Just after sunset-”

  


“What time?” Isabelle interrupted him immediately, drawing some of his writing paper off his desk and jotting down his name and the date on the top. Raphael began to pace.

  


“Around five-thirty?” he suggested. Isabelle gave him a long look before she wrote down “ _ 5:30? _ ” on the page. He felt, suddenly, unsure that it  _ was _ that time but he shook his head.

  


“Okay so you saw him around that time. What were you both doing?” Isabelle tapped the end of her pen against her lips.

  


“Don’t get lipstick on that, Lightwood. It’s my favorite,” Raphael snapped. Isabelle pulled the pen away, glancing at it and then wiping the end on her hand. Raphael rolled his eyes and drew a handkerchief from his pocket, holding it out. She took it and wiped off the end, giving him a tired look.

  


“Alright. No chewing on the pen ends. Now tell me about what you were doing when you ran into him,” Isabelle said. Raphael didn’t see the point in this. He already  _ knew _ this information. He didn’t need to relive that morning.

  


“What’s the point? To point is he left the Hotel Dumort-”

  


“Because his state of mind, or something he said, or even something  _ you _ did might give us a clue as to where he went!” Isabelle replied, finally losing her cool, banging the flat of her palm into the desk. Raphael went still.

  


“Something  _ I _ did? You think he ran away from  _ me?” _ he demanded. Isabelle threw the pen down against the desk.

  


“Right now I think  _ nothing _ . I just want you to answer the question!” she replied. Raphael stared her down for a moment and then he sighed and began to pace again.

  


“We woke up together. Simon… stays in here with me,” he said. Isabelle nodded and, where Raphael was expecting a comment, she surprised him by giving none. She just jotted down, in her elegant handwriting, the facts as Raphael had said them.

  


“Alright. So you both woke up here. What then?” she asked. Raphael fought the urge to close off.

  


“We stayed in bed for a bit,” he said and Isabelle  _ did _ raise an eyebrow at that.

  


“You had sex?” she asked. Raphael snarled.

  


“Is that  _ really _ any of your business, Lightwood?” he demanded. Isabelle sighed.

  


“I guess not,” she replied. “So after you got up what happened?”

  


Raphael thought about it. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

  


“Simon… he wandered around the hotel for a bit I think? He… He probably went to look for that hideous vampire Santa thing he was giving to Magnus?” Raphael said. Isabelle nodded, jotting it down. 

  


“What was he wearing?” she asked.

  


Raphael stared at her. He had  _ no _ idea.

  


“Knowing Simon it was some kind of nerdy t-shirt and jeans,” he said with a shrug. Isabelle rubbed her forehead.

  


“It was the middle of December, Raphael. If he intended to go out into the Mundane world that day, he almost certainly wasn’t just wearing a t-shirt,” she said. “I need you to answer this seriously because I need to know if my memory is correct.”

  


“His coat is… leather. It’s a leather jacket. And he got a hideous scarf from Magnus that he’s been wearing for the last few days. Some designer that Magnus likes,” he said, trying to wrack his brain. The scarf had been some weird design that had  _ not _ been very vampiric as far as Raphael was concerned, but Simon had said that even if it  _ was _ almost repulsive, it was a gift and it kept his neck warm.

  


Raphael had not quite made his peace with it.

  


“That scarf is Vivienne Westwood…” Isabelle said and Raphael rolled his eyes.

  


“Yes, that one. In any case, that’s what he must have been wearing,” he said. Isabelle nodded.

  


“It matches with what I remember,” she said. “So he left here at about five thirty you said?”

  


“Yes,” Raphael forced out. He  _ hated _ repeating himself. Isabelle sighed.

  


“Did he say anything about his plans for the day?” she pressed. Raphael rolled his eyes.

  


“Magnus’ apartment. Santa. DVD,” he said. Isabelle sighed and then leaned back in the chair and ran her fingers through her hair.

  


“How was he getting there?” she asked, apparently giving up on writing anything down now. Raphael shrugged.

  


“He didn’t say. He usually takes the subway though,” he pointed out. Isabelle nodded.

  


“Okay, now you ask me questions,” she suggested. Raphael stared at her. “What? The next thing we’re going to have to do is interview everyone who saw him that day, or might have seen him. I want you to get practice. Some of those people might be mundanes. You can’t just snarl at them until they give you the answers you want.”

  


Raphael sighed and actually thought about what he needed to know. Isabelle’s questions had been fairly open in nature, he realised. She had only asked ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions when clarifying what he’d already said.

  


She was a natural at this. He just had to emulate her. Though he had something on her, and that was the subtle, or not so subtle, use of his encanto.

  


“On the day he disappeared, where did you meet Simon?” he asked. Isabelle opened her mouth and then her expression changed. She tilted her head to the side, as though a little confused.

  


“Simon messaged me to say he was on his way and suggested we met outside a coffee place,” she said. Raphael raised an eyebrow.

  


“Really? Do you meet often?” he asked and Isabelle blinked. She could tell something was off, Raphael realised, but she couldn’t quite place it when he was careful to keep his powers on low. It took some effort to keep it under control so much, but until she detected it she would be powerless against the gentle suggestion of ‘trust me, tell me everything’.

  


“Once or twice a week,” Isabelle said and then shrugged. “Anyway, we met up at the coffee place and we walked round to Magnus’ apartment. We chatted with him and Alec for a bit.”

  


“What about?” Raphael asked. Isabelle frowned.

  


“Just… things. Alec and Magnus’ relationship, plans for the rest of the day. Magnus invited me out clubbing,” Isabelle continued. “I went to get ready. By the time I was ready, Alec said Simon had left.”

  


Raphael let the encanto drop.

  


Isabelle’s expression cleared and at first Raphael thought that she might attack him. Instead she just very slowly leaned back and put her feet up on the desk. Her eyes were full of anger, but she didn’t betray it anywhere else.

  


“Well, what do you know, you  _ do _ have subtlety,” she said. Raphael narrowed his eyes.

  


“I’m always subtle,” he protested but Isabelle just laughed at him.

  


“You  _ think _ you’re subtle, Raphael, but you are  _ far, far _ from it.”

  


*

  


“Can you tell me the last time you saw Simon?” Isabelle asked. Alec was giving her a look like she was strange and she couldn’t blame him. But she felt she had to be thorough.

  


It wasn’t that she wasn’t out-of-her-mind with worry for Simon. She was. But she was slightly less out-of-her-mind than Raphael appeared to be. At least currently. She had to get all the accounts from people. Only when they’d exhausted all these leads would she consider Raphael’s ‘throw caution to the wind’ ideas.

  


“At Magnus’. You were  _ there _ Izzy,” Alec pointed out, shuffling a file. Isabelle nodded.

  


“Yeah, I know that but-”

  


“How’s it going? Jocelyn give you some good information?”

  


Isabelle tried not to look too obviously caught talking about something she wasn’t supposed to be. Her father was addressing her directly, still not quite over Alec’s decision to choose a  _ male _ warlock over a suitable marriage.

  


“Yes, loads,” Isabelle said. She quickly picked up the file Alec had just discarded. “Me and Alec were just talking about it.”

  


Isabelle gave Alec a wide-eyed look and Alec swiftly picked up the conversation.

  


“It seems like Valentine’s plan for the Mortal Cup was…” Alec began to explain and Isabelle busied herself scanning the desk for some easily obtainable information just in case her father asked her a question.

  


It seemed that the moment Alec started talking though, her father lost all taste for conversation.

  


“Good, good. Keep yourselves busy. It’s probably best if you stay at the Institute while we finish this up,” he recommended. Isabelle knew what he was getting at, that he wanted Alec away from Magnus and their shared apartment for as long as possible. It wasn’t about inviting Alec back into the family, just about being awkward.

  


She could tell by the tightening of Alec’s jaw that it wasn’t lost on him.

  


“If I feel it’s needed, I’ll sleep here,” he said. Robert gave him a hard look. He couldn’t disagree with Alec without admitting that it wasn’t about the needs of the case and more about his private life, so instead he just nodded and walked away.

  


Isabelle let out a sigh of relief.

  


“Be careful, Izzy. I know you want to investigate this, but the way things are at the Institute right now… There’s talk of trying people for all kinds of things. There’s even talk of sedition being brought back onto the books,” Alec said. Isabelle snorted, but Alec caught her arm.

  


“I’m just as worried about Simon as you are, but if you’re going to sniff around the Institute  _ be careful _ , Izzy. Anything that looks suspicious is going to be dealt with harshly. We’re talking about full-blown paranoia now since… since Hodge,” Alec said quietly. Isabelle squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

  


“If it were Magnus missing, would you take that advice?” she asked. Alec gave her a fond look.

  


“Absolutely not. But Simon’s not your Magnus,” he said and then tilted his head to the side. Isabelle could tell there was another question on his tongue but she cut him off before he could ask it.

  


“So what did you and Simon talk about after I left with Magnus?” she asked. Alec’s eyes went upwards as he thought.

  


“We talked about me and Magnus kind of briefly, then I thanked him for that… dumb Santa thing. After that he said something about going to pick up something for Raphael for Christmas and heading back to the Hotel Dumort...” he said then his eyes widened. “Shit I totally forgot he’d mentioned that until now.”

  


“Alec, you’re absolutely brilliant,” she said, throwing her arms around his arm and kissing his cheek. She left a red smear where she’d kissed him that he scowled as he tried to rub off.

  


“Why am I brilliant?” he asked. Isabelle grinned.

  


“Because we didn’t know that Simon was planning to go somewhere between your apartment and the Hotel Dumort. That’s another lead to follow up,” she said brightly. “I’m going to check the CCTV. If he didn’t get off in Harlem then that means that he got off at a stop on the way… Or never rode the subway at all!”

  


She dashed away, thrilled with her breakthrough. Alec watched her go, lost in thought.

  


*

  


Raphael looked up at the house that he knew he couldn’t enter. It was a normal home, for a normal family. There were Hanukkah candles in the window along with fairy lights strung along the outside.

  


He could hear the sounds of those inside, could smell the gingerbread they were cooking, Simon’s mother and his sister bustling around.

  


He had almost worked up the courage to knock on the door when his phone went off.

  


“Raphael Santiago,” he answered quickly, stepping into the shadows and away from the house.

  


“It’s Isabelle. I’ve found a lead on Simon. I think he went shopping. I’ve got a station he got off at and some street cameras. We should ask around the area, see if the shop keepers saw anything,” Isabelle sounded breathless and there was the sound of her heels against the pavement. She was clearly on the move.

  


“Where?” he asked. Isabelle’s pace sped up.

  


“Near Columbus Circle Station,” she said. Raphael didn’t even bother to reply, instead cancelling the call and putting his phone into his pocket. Columbus Circle… 59th near Broadway… And with Central Park right next to it.

  


Simon often changed lines there when he was traveling between the two areas. On more than one occasion he had dragged Raphael to some bar or business in the area after discovering it when he’d gone exploring. Especially now it was winter, and the nights were so much longer…

  


Now he was going there with Isabelle Lightwood instead, and hoping that somehow, someone in  that area remembered who Simon was.

  


*

  


“Raphael!”

  


Isabelle was easy to spot. Even though the cold had forced her to cover herself, her red dress hidden beneath a long trench coat, she was instantly recognisable. It was mostly by how men around her seemed to react. Even those who didn’t ostensibly check Isabelle out seemed to get out of her way so as not to be a burden to her.

  


Raphael didn’t call back, instead pulling his bike in next to her and taking off his helmet. He gestured to the back of the bike with his head.

  


“I need to park it. Come on,” he said. Isabelle looked at it for a moment, then down at her clothes before making a decision. Her skirt, which was very tight and clung tightly all the way down to the knees, was suddenly being grasped in her hands.

  


With the strength of a shadowhunter, she tore almost all the way up to her hip before swinging her leg over the side of the bike.

  


“You could have just sat side saddle for a block or two,” Raphael said. He was almost uncomfortable with having Isabelle so close to him and dressed like that. It was different when it was someone like Camille, but Isabelle Lightwood had the blood of the angel within her and she smelled…

  


He jammed his helmet back on.

  


He was not going to give into base instincts, even if it was like having a gourmet meal sat behind him.

  


“And miss the chance to have this beast between my legs. You’ll have to give me a chance to have a go on her some time,” Isabelle purred against the back of his neck and Raphael resisted the urge to jerk away.

  


“Hang on,” he ordered and then revved the engine, weaving through the traffic until he found somewhere to park where his bike wouldn’t attract too much attention from mundanes. Isabelle hopped off, brushing her fingers through her hair to rearrange it and putting her hand on her hip.

  


“We may as well ask from here back towards the station and then from there work our way around. Simon didn’t get back on the train from Columbus, which means he had to have taken at least one of these paths,” she said, surveying the night streets and stifling a yawn.

  


It was 3am. She must have been exhausted, considering that she had probably been awake during the day as well.

  


Raphael withdrew his phone and opened Facebook. Simon still used it, much like any teenager. He brought up Simon’s check-ins.

  


“He checked into a deli near here a week ago… Which is odd because he can’t eat,” he said. Isabelle blinked and then leaned over Raphael’s shoulder.

  


“Look, Clary’s tagged. She was probably hungry,” Isabelle said and then frowned. “Let’s keep looking anyway… I… Isn’t it weird that Simon would come here for something for you? It’s not like he had much money.”

  


Raphael thought about it, walking down the street after Isabelle. The first few stores they tried were small, local businesses, food joints and liquor stores. Some of them recognised Simon’s face, but only as a pale guy who came in sometimes and chatted to them late at night. They hadn’t seen him in the last week, maybe longer.

  


The closer they got back to Columbus Circle, the more upmarket the businesses got. They were, naturally, all closed. Isabelle stared into the Swarovski shop with something akin to delight.

  


It was then that Raphael realised why Simon had been here.

  


“Boss,” he said suddenly. Isabelle’s attention was drawn away from the crystals.

  


“I love it when you use nicknames for me, but couldn’t you use something a little more feminine?” Isabelle teased. Raphael rolled his eyes.

  


“Hugo Boss. Simon mentioned he’d seen something in there that he had been thinking of buying. He never said it was for me so I never really connected it but-” Raphael trailed off. There was something wrong with that picture.

  


Where on earth would Simon have got the money for something like that? Usually Raphael provided most of the cash from the vampire’s own more than ample accounts, but if Simon hadn’t asked him for the cash… Did that mean he’d asked someone else? Who?

  


It wasn’t like Raphael would have failed to notice him having a part time job.

  


It seemed that Isabelle had the same idea.

  


“We need to find out where Simon was getting Hugo Boss dollars,” she said. Raphael shook his head.

  


“We need to make sure he went in there first,” he reminded her. Isabelle was biting her lip.

  


“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll come back tomorrow, during store hours. I’m sure Magnus won’t mind the trip,” she said. Raphael didn’t know what Magnus would or wouldn’t mind.

  


“There’s nothing left to do tonight. I’ll return to the Hotel Dumort, ask about, see if anyone lent him the cash,” Raphael said. He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and for a moment the silence stretched.

  


“What?” Isabelle asked, her expression slightly suspicious. Raphael shook his head.

  


“Nothing,” he said, turning away. “Just thanks, I guess.”

  


*

  


Raphael didn’t return to the Hotel Dumort straight away.

  


There was one place, after all, where most people would turn to money when they needed it first.

  


Home.

  


He stared at the Lewis house and then squared his shoulders and knocked on the door.

  


*

  


“I’ll take Simon home,” Raphael said and Magnus nodded, clearly too tired and worn bare by the night’s events to argue. Even Simon barely put up a struggle, letting Raphael guide him down the uneven staircase of Magnus’ Brooklyn apartment building and down onto the street.

  


“I’m gonna hail a cab. Wait here,” Raphael said but as he turned to go he felt Simon snatch his hand. The mundane was shaking so strongly he was barely able to grip it. Yet Raphael was no more able to pull away than he was able to make it rain on command.

  


“I… I don’t want to be alone,” Simon said, his voice broken sounding. Raphael turned to face him. He could pick out every detail of Simon’s condition. He could see his slight fever as his body fought to reject the vampire blood that it had absorbed. He could see some blood crusted in the corner of Simon’s mouth. Blood painted his tattered t-shirt. His nails still had his own blood trapped beneath them. Blood, blood, blood.

  


“Can you walk?” Raphael asked. Simon nodded and took a few pained steps. Raphael sighed. It would take them  _ forever _ to hail a cab if the mundane was shambling along like drunk.

  


Raphael didn’t wait for permission. He strode forward and scooped Simon up.

  


“Shut up. Don’t say anything,” he warned. Simon, who looked like he was about to protest or say something unfortunate, just let his mouth shut. Raphael was grateful that the mundane didn’t argue it for once.

  


He walked towards a busier intersection and waited for a while for a cab that was marked vacant. He had to jostle Simon a little to be able to raise his hand enough for the cab to realise he was trying to hail it. When he looked down at Simon, he realised the mundane had completely passed out.

  


It was with a gentleness that Raphael had forgotten he even possessed that he lowered Simon into the back of the taxi and ran round to the other side.

  


“Where to?” the driver asked. “He’s not going to die in my cab is he?”

  


“It’s not his blood. You should see the other guy,” Raphael lied and the cab driver went pale. He reached into Simon’s pocket and pulled out his wallet, going through his things until he found Simon’s address.

  


“Take us here,” he said. The cab driver was still looking suspicious.

  


“Look, he looks out of it, man, and I saw this once before and the girl had been drugged and such terrible things happened to her-”

  


Raphael suddenly realised what the driver was getting at and tried to hold back the fury that filled him. The man thought he was a  _ rapist? _ Of all the things he had been accused of, that had to be the lowest of them all.

  


He reached out and shook Simon’s shoulder. The mundane made a sleepy noise but as he was consistently shook he opened his eyes.

  


“Raphael…? Wha…?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. Raphael nodded to the cab driver.

  


“Tell this guy I’m not abducting you,” he said. Simon’s glasses had half-fallen off his face as he sat up.

  


“Abducting me? What? I just want to go home…” Simon said and then promptly fell asleep again. The cab driver gave Raphael one, last determining look and then sighed, starting up the meter and pulling away.

  


Raphael watched the meter rise and rise as he ruminated on the night’s events.

  


It was true that you couldn’t go through things like that and not feel closer to someone. When Magnus had first found him and helped him, it had forged a bond between them. It had twisted their fates together in a way that Raphael couldn’t break.

  


And now this mundane had been pulled into as well. He had been twisted and bent into Raphael’s world and he would be forever changed by it. Well after the vampire blood faded, Simon would remember what it was like to be the prey of a supernatural being so much stronger than himself. He would remember the pain, the anguish, the fear, the adrenaline.

  


He would remember who he had shared it with.

  


Raphael stared out into the city.

  


Guiltily, he felt less lonely.

  


The cab turned into a residential area, all beautifully turned out houses and manicured gardens. How rare in New York. He felt uncomfortable. It was a far cry from Harlem. He tried to imagine his family on these streets and he realised he couldn’t.

  


“We’re here,” the driver said. Raphael nodded and looked at the meter. He groaned and handed over the money, counting out the bills begrudgingly. He could have definitely spent that money on something much better.

  


Simon didn’t move though and the driver, now paid, was just staring at him expectantly. Raphael sighed and slid out of the back seat, grabbing Simon and manhandling him out. The mundane seemed out cold.

  


Raphael considered just dumping him on the porch, but then he looked down at Simon’s shirt. There was almost no way he’d be able to explain coming home looking like that. By all rights, he should have been dead. Even with magical healing, he’d been pushing it close.

  


So just knocking on the door and handing Simon over was out. Raphael surveyed the house and then saw what he was going to have to do.

  


“ _A la mierda con esto_ …” Raphael muttered, getting ready to drop Simon on his ass and just leave. “This isn’t some teen movie…” But Simon groaned pitifully and he sighed. He carefully arranged Simon so he was over his shoulder and made his way to the trellis that ran up the side of the house. It creaked under both of their weight but Raphael was fast enough to get up it before it could come away from the wall.

  


He walked along the roof of the porch to the window. It led to the hallway, not a bedroom, but it was good enough. He dug his fingernails under the frame and, using his strength, broke the lock. Now came the tricky bit. He slowly opened the window and with a contortion that would have made a gymnast proud, managed to compress himself enough to get through the window without crushing Simon.

  


He closed the window after himself and looked around.

  


The bathroom was definitely the first port of call. Simon might be in need of a bed, but if his mother walked into sheets covered in blood, it would be no better than if Raphael had left him on the doorstep. He took Simon into the bathroom and sat him against the bath, closing the door and running the shower.

  


He was checking the temperature when he heard Simon stir again.

  


“Oh god what the hell I feel weird,” Simon said and then he was moving, almost vampirically fast, towards the toilet. He threw up, red swirling down the toilet boil. Raphael grimaced but didn’t comment, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and waiting.

  


Simon flushed the toilet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  


“How did I get here? Weren’t we in a cab?” Simon asked and then his eyes went wide. “Did my mother see me like this?!”

  


“No. I broke in through the upstairs window. You should probably replace that lock tomorrow,” Raphael replied, putting his hands in his pockets. Simon was staring at him like he’d grown an extra head.

  


“What?” Raphael demanded. Simon shook his head.

  


“I just… It’s nothing,” he said. Raphael clicked his tongue and got to his feet.

  


“Shower. Don’t pass out. I’ll be outside the door,” he said and he wasn’t sure why he didn’t just leave.

  


No, he was sure, he just wasn’t prepared to admit that he felt just as jittery as Simon did. It was like the feeling when it seemed like everything was going alright in a horror movie, but you knew there was twenty minutes left and that things were far from over.

  


He couldn’t shake the feeling that something worse was coming.

  


He leaned against the wall by the bathroom and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He could hear Simon’s heartbeat even above the noise of the water. Strong. Healthy. He was going to be alright.

  


He heard a scream.

  


Raphael opened his eyes. He had been so focused on listening to Simon that he had missed the sound of Simon’s mother’s bedroom door opening. Now her eyes were focused on him, wide and terrified. She had a baseball bat in her hand, though she wasn’t in any position to strike at him with it.

  


Raphael heard the sound of the shower switching off.

  


He knew he should say something but he wasn’t quite sure what.

  


He was suddenly aware he was covered in blood and melted bits of flesh.

  


“Hello Mrs Lewis,” he said and tried to make himself look inoffensive. It was kind of hard when he was a suspicious stranger who had broken into her house and was currently looking like every kind of deranged killer.

  


“How do you know who I am?! I’m warning you! I’ve phoned the police!” she shrieked. Raphael pretended to look affected by that. Mundane police weren’t much of a threat to him and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have missed the sound of a hurried 911 call.

  


The bathroom door burst open and Simon came out, freshly showered and pink. His clothes were wrapped in a towel. Raphael couldn’t see them, but he could smell them. He was clutching a second towel around his waist.

  


“Mom? What on earth are you doing?” Simon asked, goggling at his mother like she was insane. Raphael had to admit he had pretty good acting skills. It was also the first time he’d seen the mundane without his glasses and he had to admit, Simon looked much better without them.

  


“Simon?” Mrs Lewis looked confused as she slowly lowered the baseball bat. “Is this a friend of yours?”

  


“Oh, yeah. Mom, meet Raph. Raph, meet my mom,” Simon said, patting Raphael on the shoulder. He bristled at the nickname but forced a smile onto his face.

  


“Raphael Santiago,” he said and held out his hand for her to shake. He realised it was stained with blood and quickly pulled it back. Mrs Lewis was looking at him in horror.

  


“Are you injured? Do I need to call an ambulance?” she asked. Simon seemed to not know what to say to explain how Raphael was covered in blood and gristle and dirt but seemingly uninjured.

  


“Oh, this?” Raphael gestured to himself. “Sorry. I came from a club downtown. It was one of those horror nights. You know, the ones where you go in costume. I thought I’d try being a… murder victim.”

  


Raphael tried to look earnest. He was pretty sure that it was beyond any acting skill he had though. He tried to reach for his encanto, but he had exhausted it earlier keeping Simon under his control. He was all out of people-winning powers.

  


“Right…” Mrs Lewis said and looked at Simon who just smiled at her winningly.

  


“We’re gonna go to my room anyway, mom. I said Raphael could stay here seeing as his house is… upstate,” Simon said. Raphael wondered how gullible Simon thought his mother was. He was surprised when she just nodded, somewhat shakily though.

  


Raphael’s own mother would have clipped both of their ears for waking her at least. Mrs Lewis, however, looked like she’d rather do something stupid like  _ talk _ about it.

  


“Have you been drinking?” she asked. Simon shook his head.

  


“No. No alcohol mom, I promise. Just… dancing and stuff,” Simon said and Raphael wished he hadn’t said ‘and stuff’ because now Mrs Lewis was looking at Raphael with a whole different kind of look - the kind that lionesses gave to things that preyed on their cubs.

  


“I see. And Raphael will be staying in your room?” she clarified. Raphael tried to warn Simon it was a trap but Simon just smiled at her and nodded. Raphael saw Mrs Lewis’ expression grow tight.

  


“I… see,” she said. Simon nodded and then stepped fully out of the bathroom.

  


“I’m gonna get my pajamas on anyway, why don’t you shower and stuff while you wait, Raph?” he suggested. Raphael tried to look anywhere but at Simon or his mother.

  


No sooner had Simon disappeared into his room though, than Mrs Lewis stepped forward and gave him a shrewd look.

  


“I’m not sure what you’re doing with my son, but he’s not the kind of boy who does this,” she said, folding her arms. “Not… clubs on weeknights, or staying out late or… going to strange goth nightclubs.”

  


Goth nightclubs… Did this woman still think it was the 90s? Raphael held back a comment though.

  


“If you do anything to lead him astray, I will get involved. Do we understand each other?” she asked. Raphael met her eyes.

  


“I have no intention of… leading anyone astray,” he promised her. She searched his eyes for truth and then sighed.

  


“I wish I could tell if you were lying but… you have the poker face of a dead man,” she said, rubbing her face tiredly. “Go shower. I’ll talk to Simon about his behavior in the morning. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use my house as a hotel in future.”

  


Raphael nodded and walked into the bathroom, relieved to get away from her.

  


He stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor and then stepped into the shower. He washed away the blood, watching it swirl down the drain. It was rather therapeutic to get rid of it all. Then he dried himself on a towel that he  _ hoped _ wasn’t one of those decorative ones.

  


He wondered why he even  _ cared _ .

  


He looked at his dirty clothes and sighed, scooping them up. He’d ask Simon if he had any clothes to borrow. His were ruined.

  


When he got to Simon’s room, he saw the mundane was sat with his head in his hands. He cleared his throat as he shut the door.

  


“Can I borrow something to wear?” he asked. Simon jerked to alertness and then sprang to action.

  


“S-Sure. Let me just…” Simon said and began to search his draws. Raphael soon had boxers, socks, a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants laid out for him on the bed, with Simon standing skittishly to one side.

  


Raphael cleared his throat.

  


“Oh, right,” Simon said and quickly left the room. Raphael quickly pulled on the clothes. They fit strangely, stretched and worn in places that his own body wouldn’t have, but they weren’t so ill-fitting that he couldn’t wear them. He pulled open the door and Simon came back in.

  


For a moment they stood there awkwardly before Simon broke the silence.

  


“How long would it take you to get back from the Hotel Dumort from here?” he asked. Raphael calculated it.

  


“If I could get to the tunnels on time, I could probably make it back before sunrise. It would be a closer call than I’d like to take with my own life tonight though,” he admitted. Simon nodded.

  


“Let me get the shutters,” he said and Raphael blinked when Simon shuttered his windows and drew the curtains tightly against the sunlight. He then turned to a pinboard he had, photos of him and Fairchild and some other mundanes pinned to it. He quickly removed all the pins, carefully placing the photos on his desk, and then used them to pin the curtains securely around the window.

  


“It’s the best I can do to stop the sunlight,” he said. Raphael stared at him before slowly nodding his head.

  


Simon looked awkward.

  


“I, er, I only have my bed,” he said. Raphael rolled his eyes.

  


“I saw,” he said. “And honestly, if you think it’s a big deal you’re a child.”

  


Without further ado, he climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up over his shoulders. Simon didn’t move for a while until he finally seemed to realise that there was nothing to be done and got into bed himself, a careful distance maintained so they didn’t touch each other.

  


Raphael waited for Simon’s breathing to slow into sleep, but it didn’t come. Instead he heard a sharp gasp. He could feel the bed shaking, ever so slightly, as the sobs wracked Simon’s body. Raphael almost envied him his ability to cry.

  


He remembered being younger. He remembered his little brothers, how they’d cling to him sometimes and cry over the tiniest of things. Then they were older than him and they no longer came to him. Then they were old men. Then they were dead.

  


He wasn’t aware of turning over, but he felt Simon go still, trying to hold it back, trying to rein in his pain.

  


Raphael just rested his hand on Simon’s arm, awkwardly rubbing it. Simon shuddered, allowing himself weakness for a moment longer.

  


*

  


“You!”

  


Raphael deserved the slap he got. He deserved the wide eyed look he got when his head didn’t even snap to one side from the blow. He stared into Mrs Lewis’ eyes with the empty eyes of a dead man.

  


“Simon’s missing. I need to talk to you,” he said. Mrs Lewis was shaking. She had never known, not really, what Simon had got mixed up in. Raphael had never wanted to out him to his parents, not in any way, but this was important and he was done wasting time.

  


“My son… You promised me you wouldn’t get him mixed up in whatever… whatever  _ thing _ you have going on. What is it? Drugs?” she asked. Raphael had no time for racial stereotyping.

  


“Much worse than that,” he said and leaned against the door frame. “I need to know if he asked you for money.”

  


Mrs Lewis was shaking. She looked about to cry.

  


“He… He came by the house a few days ago. Said he wanted to buy something for Christmas… I turned him away,” she said, her voice trembling. “What did he need the money for? Is he alright? Do you know what-”

  


She broke down in tears, falling to her knees. Raphael looked down at her.

  


“He just wanted to buy a Christmas present. Your son isn’t involved in drugs, Mrs Lewis,” he said and then he knelt down, reaching out to take her hand. She looked up at him and snatched her hand back. Raphael realised that nothing he said was going to convince her that he was telling the truth.

  


“If it weren’t for you, the Simon I knew… the Simon I raised…” she sobbed. Raphael got to his feet and turned away from her. She was going to be no use to him, not right now.

  


“I told him, he should have dated Clary. I know he was considering seeing that nice new girl, kind of dark? He should have dated her. He should never have got involved in your mess!” she was yelling at him as he walked down the path. Raphael closed his eyes.

  


“Even after he met you! He still had his doubts! He still came home and led a normal life! He still saw girls! Why did you have to take his normal life away from him? Why did you have to as good as kill my son?!” Mrs Lewis shrieked. Raphael stopped dead in his tracks.

  


Her heartbreak didn’t affect him but...

  


Simon had been seeing girls?

  


He turned enough to look at her out of the corner of his eye, saw that she was watching him, and then dissolved into mist.

  


He saw the fear on her face, and it was worth it, even if it was only for a few moments petty revenge.

  


*

  


_ Everyone has a dark secret that they hide from their family. Some men even hide them from themselves. For me, my secret was my vampirism, and then from Simon I hid the depths of my feelings for him. I was distant, untouchable, a fog that crept through the darkness somewhere between sunset and sunrise that he couldn’t reach out and grasp. _

  


_ It had never occurred to me that Simon might have secrets of his own. Simon, someone that I had begrudgingly started to put my trust in, might have had women on the side. Simon, someone that I had accepted into my clan, might have betrayed me in a way that I could never have dreamed. _

  


_ I hated him for what his mother revealed to me, something that my own guilt and self-doubt allowed me to believe was true. I hated myself for having taken him away from a world where he could have been so much more than he was when he was with me. _

  


_ But most of all, I hated his mother, because for all her perfect things, despite her perfect house, her model son - she hadn’t found it in her to love her him in spite of his mistakes. _

  


_ And I hated her because she was the first person who made me doubt. _


	4. Adultery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have sinned against you and done what you consider evil. So you are right in judging me; you are justified in condemning me,” Raphael whispered, and cupped Simon’s jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind words and encouragement so far! I am definitely needing it right now!
> 
> Notes: There is talk of asexuality, demisexuality and cheating in this chapter. The characters do not reflect the _author's_ view points, but rather a combination of confusion, understanding and myths that surround those sexualities on the spectrum.

_ I’m a vampire. When I hear that someone has done something questionable, something wrong, my mind automatically leaps to those mutts who hang around the chinese restaurant like a bunch of strays. _

 

_ It wasn’t that I disliked Maia Roberts, per se. It’s more that I disliked the way I felt about Simon when she was around. On edge, like the razor sharp tip of a fang, one inch away from biting into human flesh. The tension was always palpable. I was irritable, afraid, jealous. I could not trust her, she did not like me, and we made no effort to work at bettering our relationship. _

 

_ But she was Simon’s friend and if he had been going to see anyone without me knowing about it, it would have been her. _

 

Dios _ , I was such an asshole. _

 

*

 

“Raphael Santiago. I would ask what you’re doing here, but I think I already know the answer to that,” Luke Garroway rose from his seat and held out his hand. Around him the other werewolves in the run down restaurant regarded Raphael warily. He reluctantly shook the offered hand. He made sure that the wolf saw him wipe his hand on his handkerchief before he put it back in his pocket.

 

He’d barely slept a wink. He was cranky. Isabelle wasn’t answering his calls and so he had been left to trace the only lead he had - the one that Simon’s mother had given him.

 

“You know that Simon’s missing?” he checked. Luke nodded. Raphael looked away. He didn’t want to meet his eyes at all. “I need to talk to Maia.”

 

“What could you possibly want with Maia?” Luke asked. Raphael was very aware that one wolf had circled around behind him.

 

“It’s a lead from Simon’s mother,” he said. Luke didn’t even think, he just nodded, waving a hand and sending the skulking wolf back into the corner.

 

“I’ll go get her,” he said, disappearing back through the serving doors to the kitchen. Raphael took a seat at one of the booths, kicking his feet up onto the table.

 

No sooner than he was comfortable, Maia banged the back doors open. She regarded him suspiciously with her dark eyes. Her hair was done up in cornrows against her scalp and a bead of sweat ran down her temple. She had clearly been doing something strenuous before she’d come out to meet him.

 

“Oh if it isn’t Pretty Boy Number One. What can I do for you today?” she asked, rolling her eyes and folding her arms. She didn’t take a seat across from him. Raphael resisted the urge to scold her for rudeness.

 

“I need to know if you’ve seen Simon over the last few days,” he said. Maia scoffed at him.

 

“Of course I haven’t. I’ve been looking for him too, you know,” she said petulantly. Raphael swung his feet off the table, standing up. Drawn up to his full height, Maia was much shorter than him.

 

Was this really who Simon had been  _ dating _ on the side? Someone so small and scrappy?

 

“So invested in his disappearance are you?” Raphael sneered. Maia raised her chin, nose scrunched up in a snarl.

 

“Simon is my friend. Of course I’m going to look for him,” she spat. Raphael took a step closer.

 

“Just your friend?” His voice was low. Maia didn’t back down.

 

“What are you implying?” she demanded, dropping her arms from being folded. Raphael noticed her hands had turned into fists.

 

“Someone told me he was dating you,” Raphael replied and he tried to keep his voice from shaking with the anger and betrayal he felt saying those worse. Maia didn’t so much as blink.

 

“Well someone was misinformed,” she said. Raphael scanned her face.

 

“I don’t believe you,” he said, because he wouldn’t believe a wolf wouldn’t lie just to protect itself. He couldn’t believe her at all. Even though she was planted, squarely, not giving an inch to his interrogation.

 

“There’s nothing I can do about that, Vampire,” she spat.

 

“Tell me the truth,” Raphael tried again and this time he tried to use parts of his encanto to make her do his bidding. He didn’t know how well it would work on a werewolf, but he had to try. He  _ needed _ this to be a lead. If Simon had just… run away with a werewolf…

 

Well at least he wasn’t hurt. Or in danger. Raphael would take the hit to his pride and his heart and move on.

 

“The truth? The truth is that even if I had a crush on Simon, which I don’t anymore by the way, I would  _ never _ have encouraged him to cheat. He was clearly with you and as far as I could see, he was totally happy with that,” Maia replied. Raphael picked up on a few things there. Firstly, that Maia  _ had _ been crushing on Simon, and secondly, that Simon had made it quite clear what their relationship was to her.

 

“How can I trust a single word that comes out of your mouth?” he demanded. Maia made a noise of disgust.

 

“You can’t. But this isn’t about trusting me. This is about trusting Simon,” she pointed out.

 

It felt like a slap to the face.

 

“I’m sorry I can’t help you. I hope to God if you find Simon you’ll have got over yourself though. Jealous is one of the ugliest things a person can be,” Maia said, before turning on her heel and walking straight back into the kitchen without giving him a second glance.

 

In the background a wolf let out a wheezing laugh.

 

Raphael didn’t even feel bad for breaking his nose on the way out.

 

*

 

Raphael looked at the body that had washed out of the Hudson. It hadn’t had time to bloat yet, it had only been in there a few hours, but it was still dead. As dead as dead could be.

 

Perhaps even deader.

 

Usually, Raphael wouldn’t have bothered with just another dead body in the Hudson, but there was a reason he’d been called. A reason he was here.There was a reason they were all here.

 

Clary was being held back by Jace, sobbing and crying and clawing to get to to the body. Jace’s muscles strained to hold her back, his golden eyes seemingly unable to draw themselves away from the corpse on the ground.

 

Alec and Isabelle Lightwood were stood, arms folded, solemnly looking on. Isabelle looked more affected that Alec, her large dark eyes glittering more than usual in the lights of the darkened city.

Magnus was kneeling at the corpse’s side, doing what he had been doing over and over again since he’d arrived. A flash of blue fire, magic seeping into eyes and the body’s slack mouth, but whatever Magnus was trying to do had no effect.

 

Not even Warlock magic could cure death.

 

“It was vampires,” Alec confirmed in a low murmur. “Can you be sure that they weren’t acting on Camille’s orders?”

 

“No one can be sure of that,” Raphael replied. He wasn’t sure how he felt. He wasn’t sure how he could feel so numb to it all. He realised it was because realistically, he was the only one holding it together.

 

Alec would have to take care of Magnus and Isabelle. Jace would have to take care of Clary, a task that Raphael didn’t envy.

 

Raphael would take care of Simon.

 

But first, he had to check.

 

“Clary Fairchild,” he said, turning away from Simon’s glassy eyes and looking at her. Her frantic face turned towards him, her eyes beseeching him to do something. “We can bury him now and he’ll… come back.”

 

It wasn’t the precise truth. The Simon that Clary knew and loved would be forever changed, a creature of the night, a monster like Raphael was himself.

 

“We can… But he’ll be…?” Clary seemed confused. Raphael stared her down.

 

“He’ll be a vampire. He’ll become a Downworlder,” he confirmed. Clary had stopped struggling now. Her hands were shaking. Raphael watched as her tear-streaked expression slowly morphed into one of resolve.

 

“Do it,” she said. “Bring my best friend back.”

 

Raphael nodded. He recalled Simon’s reaction at Bluebeard’s home, remembered how vehemently against the idea of being a vampire he was, how he’d have rather died than become what Raphael was.

 

Raphael turned and picked Simon up. He grimaced at the dampness of his skin, though he could not feel its coldness.

 

“It’ll be done,” he promised. Magnus had frozen, staring at where the body had been on the ground, his hand still partially raised. Magic danced at his fingertips. Raphael saw Alec swoop down, an arm sliding around Magnus’ shoulders, pulling the warlock against him in a move that seemed completely natural and free of shame.

 

Raphael looked at Simon once more.

 

Free of shame…

 

Neither he nor Simon would ever feel that way again, he had no doubt, once the night was over.

 

*

 

“They told me I’d find you here,” Isabelle seemed to glide out of the night between the gravestones. Raphael looked up, saw that she’d dressed much more practically in black jeans and a leather jacket, and then went back to his task. He scooped the dirt into the small vials, packing it in and then stoppering it. Then he moved to the next one.

 

“What are you doing?” Isabelle asked. Raphael didn’t look up again.

 

“Gathering dirt from Simon’s grave. We’ve broken all the vials we had at the Hotel Dumort already,” he explained, gesturing to the ten or so bottles that were filled, and fifteen more that were empty.

 

“If he didn’t respond to the first ones, he’s not going to respond to these,” Isabelle pointed out. Raphael used a trowel to loosen some more of the dirt.

 

“No, but if he’s being held captive, at least feeling this will let him know to hold on, that we’re still looking for him,” he said. Isabelle nodded and then got down onto her knees. She picked up the trowel as well, making her own small hole and then starting to pack the bottles with dirt herself.

 

“Luke called Clary at the Institute,” she said after a moment. Raphael pushed the bottle stop into another bottle.

 

“He says you spoke to Maia, that you thought she had something to do with Simon’s disappearance. And that you punched one of the newbies. Care to share?” Isabelle asked, discarding one of the bottles and reaching for another one.

 

“It was a dead lead,” Raphael said simply. Between them, it was quick work. Raphael guessed he was lucky she’d found him.

 

“You can’t go making enemies right now, Raphael. We still don’t know whose help we’re going to need,” Isabelle chided and Raphael discarded the trowel, using his hands to cup the dirt into a vial. His hands were stained black with dirt.

 

“I don’t need to be preached at by you,” he said flatly. Isabelle made a noise of frustration.

 

“You’re being irrational,” she said. Raphael finally turned to her, meeting her eyes.

 

“You have no idea what it is like to be in my position,” he said. Isabelle clearly wasn’t prepared to let that lie.

 

“You have to keep a clear head. You know Simon probably better than any of us except Clary-” she began but Raphael threw the vial in his hand onto the grave in frustration, cutting her off.

 

“And where is she? Putting shadowhunters and ex-Circle members ahead of her best friend?” he said, aware his voice had risen in volume. Isabelle frowned at him.

 

“Raphael, that’s not fair and if you were thinking clearly you’d know it. Clary and the Institute have a much bigger battle to fight right now,” she said, as though he’d forgotten. As though the rise of Valentine hadn’t been everyone’s problem up until he’d had a more important problem, very real one, that needed much more of his attention.

 

“So? Go, be with them. Fight your little civil war. I’m going to concentrate on finding Simon,” he said, standing up and dusting himself off. Isabelle followed him up, her gaze like a knife of accusation.

 

“You’re really unlovable, you know that?” she said.

 

Something inside him snapped at that. He had held it together so far. He had held it together for years. He would have been able to hold it together for centuries if only Simon hadn’t waltzed into his life and-

 

“I never claimed to be. I never claimed to want any of this! I never wanted to feel this way! I never wanted to have to… to…” Raphael ran out of words. He couldn’t say this to her. He didn’t want her to know. He didn’t want to say it even to himself. Parts of himself that he had always thought of as a certain way, which were now challenged, not just by Simon’s presence, but his absence too.

 

“Simon was a first for you, wasn’t he?” Isabelle’s voice was kind, pitying, and he felt a flash of anger at her for it. How  _ dare _ she?

 

“Shut up, Lightwood,” he hissed. Isabelle wasn’t deterred.

 

“It makes sense. You were turned young. You immediately went into a world run by a vampire like Camille. I imagine you never had much of a chance to pursue romance,” Isabelle mused and began to walk around the grave. 

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Raphael said and he hoped she took his warning to  _ shut up _ .

 

“Maybe I don’t. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps  you can do this by yourself, like an emotionally stunted toddler stumbling around in the dark-” Isabelle lectured and Raphael had enough. He moved faster than Isabelle expected him to. He didn’t lay a hand on her, but him suddenly being so close to her made Isabelle take a step back.

 

“Would you talk to your fucking brother that way? When he almost got himself and Magnus killed over his own goddamn denial of his sexuality?” Raphael asked. Isabelle was not Maia, there was a part of her that was strong, but she wasn’t scrappy. She didn’t get into fights like this where she wasn’t sure she couldn’t win. Her eyes skittered to the side.

 

“Back off,” she said but Raphael could tell that she was starting to realise she might be playing with dangerous territory.

 

“There’s a reason I’m private about my emotions, about my relationships, about everything and that’s because people like you would never understand it. Simon is the only one who understood it.  _ That’s _ why I’ll believe that he went to Maia. There were some things I just… couldn’t offer him,” Raphael wished he hadn’t faltered because that weakness meant that Isabelle raised her eyes once more to his face and really  _ looked _ at him. He was terrified that she might be able to see the truth.

 

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. Raphael took a step back. Everything was suddenly too close. Too real. Too  _ much _ .

 

“I never developed romantic feelings for people. I never lusted after people like Magnus did,” he admitted. “When I was a teen, I thought it was because I was broken, then as I grew older I realised I just wasn’t like everyone else.”

 

Isabelle was silent for a moment.

 

“So, you’re just gay for Simon, is that what you’re saying?” she asked. Raphael gave her a look of pure disgust.

 

“Fucking listen to yourself. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I should have known there was no way you’d understand-” he said and he  _ knew _ he wasn’t explaining himself well, but Isabelle wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.

 

“Alright, then explain it so I can,” she demanded.

 

“I shouldn’t have to. You don’t need to know,” Raphael replied. Isabelle gave him a long look.

 

“You think it has something to do with Simon’s disappearance, so I think it is something I should know if I’m going to be helping you. I’m tired of you being cryptic about information that you think is seriously affecting this case,” she asked. Raphael backed away even further from her.

 

He wished, more than ever, that Simon was there. Simon had… understood. He’d had the words for it, new words that people apparently used now. Words that meant that Raphael wasn’t  _ broken _ . Words that maybe Isabelle might have understood.

 

Raphael did not have them.

 

“I only developed feelings for Simon because of all the things we went through. I usually… Before Simon, I had only felt… platonic or familial bonds. Like with Ragnor or Magnus or Camille,” he fumbled. Isabelle rubbed her chin as she thought, smearing dirt from Simon’s grave there.

 

“You’re asexual? And you think Simon ran away with someone else because of that?” she asked. Raphael shook his head, not sure how to explain it, not sure why he should.

 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that but sure, let’s go with the easiest explanation,” he shrugged. He didn’t  _ need _ Isabelle Lightwood to understand him, he just needed her to accept that, perhaps, there were reasons why Simon might want to run away.

 

“You think Simon would be  _ bothered _ by that?” Isabelle asked, sounding incredulous.

 

“You only saw our relationship from the outside,” Raphael reminded her. Isabelle dropped her hands, looking confident in whatever it was she was about to say. Raphael wanted to scream at her that she couldn’t possible be confident in anything about this.

 

“You’re right. But I don’t think that is something that would bother Simon if he’d decided to be with you,” she said and Raphael was right, her useless platitudes did nothing to make him feel better.

 

“You have no idea what he was thinking,” he pointed out. Isabelle threw her hands up in the air.

 

“Oh end the pity party right now. So you think Simon wanted more sex or someone whose emotions were less complicated than yours? Well, there’s one way to find that out and that’s to find him. And I have a lead on that, if you’re done bottling dirt and sobbing into your sleeves,” she fumed.

 

Raphael looked at her sharply.

 

“Where?” he asked.

 

“The Mandarin Oriental,” she replied.

 

“A hotel,” Raphael said. Isabelle’s eyes narrowed but she nodded once.

 

“Let’s go,” Raphael said, scooping the vials out of the dirt and into one of his bike’s saddlebags before walking away. He didn’t wait for her to catch up.

 

*

 

“The fact that Simon was in a hotel does  _ not _ mean he was cheating on you,” Isabelle hadn’t let it drop, even when they’d arrived at the hotel.

 

“Shut up Isabelle,” he said. He wished he’d never explained to her anything about what he was thinking.

 

“Sir, Madam, may I help you?” The concierge was a prim looking man in his fifties with a very smart tuxedo. Raphael smiled at him and reached into his pocket.

 

“We’re with the NYPD. We want to ask your staff some questions about someone who came here a few days ago,” he said. The concierge looked them both over. Raphael hoped that Isabelle had the sense to look like she was with the police.

 

“Of course, sir, can I check your badge?” The concierge asked. Raphael withdrew his hand from his pocket and displayed a detective’s badge for the NYPD.

 

“Here,” he said, sliding it over. He could see Isabelle’s eyes were trained on the badge, trying to work out how on Earth he had one. The concierge looked at it, nodded, and handed it back.

 

“Just one moment. I will check the staff rosters for that night. Do you have a photo of the person in question?” he asked. Raphael quickly reached into his inside pocket, pulling out two photos of Simon, one from his graduation, another that had been taken by Magnus a few months ago. The concierge looked at them, then nodded.

 

“I believe I have seen this young man, but perhaps there may be other members of staff that would better be able to answer some questions. I will gather the data,” he said.

 

“Would it be possible to check your CCTV cameras while we wait?” Isabelle suddenly spoke up. Raphael was impressed. He would never have thought to check them. The concierge did not appear to think it was an unreasonable request.

 

“Certainly. I will escort you there myself,” he offered and opened up the front desk to allow them to duck through. He led them to a small office with a few screens and a desk and loaded up the CCTV files.

 

“Please,” he said and then he backed out of the room.

 

Isabelle immediately whirled on Raphael, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

 

“How did you get an NYPD badge?” she asked. Raphael shrugged.

 

“I lifted it from the mongrel when I was there,” he said. Isabelle’s mouth dropped open.

 

“You stole Luke’s- Give me that!” she said and she snatched it out of his hands, opening it. “Oh and you vandalised it too! He’s going to be so pissed!”

 

“Yeah if he knows I have it. Let’s check these files… Do you know what time we’re looking at specifically?” Raphael quickly changed the subject. Isabelle pocketed the ID, still looking at him reproachfully, but she leaned over the computer to check the files.

 

“Sometime between 8pm and 10pm I think,” she muttered as she scanned the file names to try to make sense of them.

 

They watched the first hour on most of the cameras with a sense of impatient boredom. Even at double speed, it was exceptionally boring. Isabelle had just started to shift in her seat when Raphael’s superior vision honed in on Simon entering the frame of the camera.

 

“There,” he said, pausing it. Isabelle sat upright immediately. She leaned in, squinting at the screen and pressing play.

 

“Who is that with him?” she asked. Raphael looked. There were four or five others with him, all dressed in suits and carrying briefcases. They weren’t the kinds of acquaintances that Simon would usually keep.

 

“I have no idea. They don’t move like vampires though,” Raphael muttered. A sick relief washed through him. Maia wasn’t there with him. These didn’t look like lovers, unless Simon had been holding back some rather strange fantasies. Whatever Simon had been doing it hadn’t been cheating.

 

“They’re not shadowhunters either. Mundanes?” Isabelle continued, unaware that Raphael’s thoughts had gone down a completely different path.

 

“What would Simon be doing with mundanes?” he asked.

 

“That’ll be a question for the staff won’t it. Look there, there’s a busboy,” Isabelle said and pointed at the screen. They tracked Simon through the rest of the footage until he reached a room and passed through one of the doors. There was no footage from inside the room itself.

 

“Where are they going? A conference room?” Raphael asked her. Isabelle nodded.

 

“Was Simon negotiating some deal on behalf of the vampires?” she asked. Raphael rubbed his forehead.

 

“Not that I was aware of…” he replied. Isabelle straightened.

 

“We need to talk to that busboy. C’mon,” she said and clapped Raphael on the shoulder.

 

Raphael looked at the screen for a moment longer.

 

It hadn’t been him. He hadn’t driven Simon away.

 

He quickly followed her out of the room.

 

*

 

“Can I help you, sir?”

 

Raphael flashed the badge at the busboy. He was a young Latino man, his thick black hair curling from underneath his cap and a piercing in his ear.

 

“Yeah. I need to know if you remember anything about this guy here,” Isabelle said, and she held out a photograph of Simon. The busboy barely glanced at it before nodding.

 

“Him? Oh yeah, I remember him. Came a few nights back with some big wigs. Got really drunk on Bloody Marys really quick and had to be carried out and driven home,” he said, shrugging. Raphael tried to push down on his excitement. A  _ lead _ . A  _ real _ lead.

 

“He was carried out of here by those men?” Isabelle pressed, clearly trying to get the man to clarify more information. The busboy took off his cap, scratching at his head as he thought.

 

“Yeah. I mean, they were real strange anyway. Probably the Mob or something. I mean, they had this briefcase and when they opened it, I expected it to be drugs money or something. You know, we get a lot of those types of deals going on here. Rich people and discrete staff you know. But it was just some stupid jacket,” he said dismissively. 

 

“A jacket?” Raphael pressed. That was in line with the Hugo Boss lead they’d had. Had Simon been trying to get money from them?

 

“Yeah. Your kid, he looked real happy about that. Toasted with the guys then looked all queasy like. They kind of jostled him into drinking more and I kinda felt sorry for him,” the busboy confirmed. Raphael shared a look with Isabelle and he saw her lean closer to the busboy, her voice low.

 

“Did you see anyone put anything in his drink?” she asked. The busboy put his cap back on and Raphael knew, from the expression on his face, that even if he  _ had _ seen it, it was more than his job was worth to admit it.

 

“Sorry man, I’m just a busboy. I was just clearing glasses and plates… Come to think of it, everyone else ate but he didn’t. Weird huh?” he said, shrugging. Raphael put his hands in his pockets.

 

“Can you remember anything that was said? Were any names mentioned or their company for instance?” he asked. He was aware that Isabelle had taken a notebook out of her pocket and was jotting down what had been said. The busboy saw too and Raphael saw him glance around them.

 

Something had him spooked.

 

“I mean, I didn’t really listen too much, y’know. But it seemed like the kid had agreed to go into one of those… pharmaceutical type things? You know the time I mean? Where you let them inject you with weird drugs and then they measure the effects on you and shit,” he said, his voice low. Raphael frowned.

 

“Drug trials?” he clarified. What on Earth? Why would anyone want a vampire for drug trials?

 

“Yeah. Seemed like that jacket was some kind of payment for it. Must’ve been expensive. Anyway, it didn’t seem too sinister to me or anything. They were all kind of calm. The kid just chatted away until he got drunk,” the busboy said, raising his voice again now he’d imparted whatever information had been somewhat risky. Raphael nodded.

 

“You sure you don’t have a name, either on your records or anything?” Isabelle pressed. The busboy shook his head.

 

“I think that other police officer took our records into evidence already,” he said. “That’s what the concierge was saying when he gathered everyone up to brief us anyway.”

 

“Other officer?” Raphael asked sharply.

 

“Yeah. Black chick,” the busboy said and Raphael got a sinking feeling in his gut. “I work the night shift, right, but she came during the day. No one working was able to tell her anything so she just took our records. That’s why you’re here, right? Because she wasn’t able to talk to us before?”

 

The pause was a beat too long before Isabelle stepped forward and offered her hand to shake.

 

“Yes, that’s right. Thank you, you’ve been a great help,” she said, flashing a smile that would make men’s hearts weak. It worked and Raphael saw a blush creep up the young man’s face.

 

“No problem. Yo is there a reward for information?” he asked. Raphael rolled his eyes.

 

“Not at this time,” Isabelle said, before drawing a piece of paper out of her pocket. “But if you remember anything else, here’s my number.”

 

Raphael had never seen someone pocket a number so fast in his life. He turned to leave, Isabelle trailing after him. As soon as she was out of sight of the busboy she dropped her smile and slightly flirtatious demeanour, squaring her shoulders and looking every inch the shadowhunter on the case.

 

“Who on earth could have got here before us?” she asked. Raphael had a good idea who it was.

 

“Someone who can track a scent fast, that’s who,” he replied. Isabelle’s mouth fell open.

 

“You think Maia-” she began but Raphael interrupted her.

 

“It had to be her. Daylight, remember?” he pointed out.

 

“Raphael, if this is you projecting...” she warned. Raphael raised an eyebrow.

 

“Black girl, impersonating an officer during daylight who almost certainly knew Simon personally? We’re going back to the restaurant. I want answers.”

 

*

  
  


Simon dug his way out of his own grave. Raphael watched on, as first his hand got out, and then every other part of him streaked with dirt, fangs bared. He held out a hand to stop Fairchild making it into a tragedy and instead threw the blood bags he’d prepared towards Simon. 

 

The fledgling didn’t even think before tearing them open, drinking each one thirstily. Raphael couldn’t afford to look away, not in case Simon chose a living target, but he wanted to. Seeing Simon like that, seeing the blood run down his chin as he drank it.

 

It was repulsive.

 

It was the last thing he had ever wanted for him.

 

It was all his fault for not protecting him.

 

And it was all his fault that, though he could say he let the Fairchild make the decision, he had made Simon into a creature like himself. He hadn’t been prepared to let go of someone he had formed a bond with.

 

“What…?” Simon finally seemed able to form words and his eyes showed a gleam of, if not humanity anymore, then intelligence.

 

Raphael immediately stepped forward, offering his hand down to Simon. Simon didn’t take it.

 

“Good morning,” he said, and hoped that he had kept his emotions in check. Simon didn’t need to see his guilt right now.

 

“Wh-what happened?” Simon asked before reaching up to his mouth and feeling, for the first time, his fangs. Raphael grimaced, but he knew that Simon was too caught up in horror to notice.

 

“Oh G-” Simon tried to call out to the higher powers and strangled on the word. Unable to take it anymore, Raphael crouched down, trying to get eye level with Simon to shake him from his stupor.

 

“You won’t be able to say that for a while,” he said keeping his voice as calm as he could. Simon curled in on himself and was silent for a few minutes. Raphael waited patiently. He could hear the others, nervously shifting, eager to say some empty words of comfort, but thankfully, they remained silent.

 

“I’m a vampire,” Simon tried out the words, looking into Raphael’s face. All Raphael could do was confirm it. 

 

“Yeah, you’re a vampire. I’m sorry, Simon,” he said. Simon looked down at his hands. Raphael considered reaching out to him but then he heard the Fairchild girl moving.

 

“Simon?”

 

Raphael saw Simon’s nostrils flare, his shoulders hunch, his pupils dilate. He readied himself to have to pin Simon down, but Simon seemed to snap himself out of it.

 

“Stay back,” he choked. Raphael remained coiled, hoping she listened.

 

“Do as he says,” Alec said softly. Clary took a few steps backwards again and Raphael saw the look of pain flash across Simon’s face. It was too much.

 

“You’re going to be unstable for a while,” Raphael said, putting his hand on Simon’s shoulder. Even that small contact made his guilt surge. He had no right to touch Simon now, he realised. He had no right to do anything. But he had to. He was Simon’s leader, now. He was the only one who could possibly understand. “It’s best to come back with me, to the Hotel Dumort.”

 

“Simon… I’m sorry,” Magnus said from behind them. Simon looked at the warlock, his expression sad.

 

“You did nothing,” Simon said. Raphael wished he could turn and see Magnus’ expression, because he had his own theories about how this might have occurred, but Magnus just repeated his apology and left.

 

“To the Hotel Dumort then,” Simon said. There was a look in his eye, a look that said he needed comfort, he needed  _ something _ . Raphael did all he could do, he reached out his hand.

 

Simon took it this time.

 

*

 

Raphael didn’t give the werewolves any warning he was coming. Instead he just opened the door, stalked past the startled wolves and made towards where he’d seen Maia head earlier. His way was blocked by Luke, who stood in front of him and put a hand on the center of his chest.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can’t just barge in here like this. Isabelle, what is going on?” Luke asked, peering around Raphael’s stoic face to look at Isabelle.

 

“Where’s Maia?” Raphael demanded, done with pandering to these stupid beasts.

 

“Back up Raphael,” Luke warned, eyes flashing amber. Raphael bared his fangs.

 

“Where’s Maia?” he asked again and his voice was so low it was barely louder than a rumble. Luke didn’t back down.

 

Isabelle rushed forward, getting between them and giving them both a sharp push that sent them a few steps backwards.

 

“Luke, we think Maia might have information on Simon’s disappearance she didn’t hand over to us when Raphael visited her earlier tonight. We need to talk to her,” she said without preamble, putting her back to Raphael and facing Luke. Raphael realised that she honestly trusted him enough not to attack. How naive.

 

“She’s not here,” Luke said, rubbing at his chest and giving Isabelle a calculating look.

 

“Then where is she?” Isabelle asked. Luke seemed to sense the desperation in her and his posture changed to something slightly less aggressive.

 

“I would guess at her home, in her bed. It’s after two in the morning,” he suggested.

 

“ _ No me digas tus mamadas _ ,” Raphael muttered. Luke gave him a sharp look.

 

“Simmer down. I can understand every word you’re saying and it is not ‘bullshit’. She isn’t here,” he said. Raphael glared at him.

 

“Luke, you know I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t really important. She probably has the names of the people who took Simon. She took them from the hotel where he was abducted. She might be in danger, too, if they know she has that information,” Isabelle said. Luke frowned and folded his arms.

 

“That’s a stretch, isn’t it?” he said. Isabelle raised her chin and said nothing in response. Luke sighed.

 

“How did  _ you _ get the information, if I may ask?” he asked. Isabelle sighed and reached into Raphael’s jacket pocket, taking out the badge and handing it to Luke.

 

“Thank you. Maia’s address is here,” Luke took the badge and put it in his pocket before he withdrew a small black address book from his back pocket and tore out a page. “Do not go in all guns blazing. Tell her to come here for her own safety.”

 

“We will do. Thank you Luke,” Isabelle said. Raphael took a few steps towards the door.

 

“Isabelle, a word,” he heard Luke say. He continued outside, giving them the semblance of privacy even though he could hear every word.

 

“He’s off balance. Be careful. Raphael, as he is now, he could break the Accords without even thinking of it,” Luke was whispering. Raphael snorted. How stupid the wolves were to think he would place all his people in danger like that.

 

“He is more sensible than that,” Isabelle replied and Raphael couldn’t help but be surprised she was sticking up for him.

 

“Raphael won’t break the Accords, but he might do some things that you don’t agree with to find Simon,” Isabelle continued. Raphael leaned back against the wall of the restaurant.

 

“Do you agree with the things he’s doing?” Luke pressed her. He could picture Isabelle in that moment, her legs apart, her arms crossed, her dark eyes shining.

 

“I want to find Simon,” she said. Raphael couldn’t help a wry smile that spread across his face.

 

“You are a complex woman, Isabelle Lightwood. Just be careful you don’t think you’re more capable than you are. This is Trouble. Capital T. The fight against Valentine-”

 

“Will be fought and I know where my loyalties and duties lie. Yet while we are milling around, unsure, just waiting for Valentine to make his next move, I am going to do what I can to save Simon,” she said and Raphael guessed, from the slight chuckle that Luke gave, that he had given up in the face of Lightwood obstinancy.

 

“You have the support of the Downworld, Isabelle. We haven’t forgotten what the younger Lightwoods have done for us,” Luke urged, and Raphael heard their footsteps heading to the door.

 

“I have done nothing. And my brother only did it for Magnus,” Isabelle replied, and she was clearly more astute than she let on to have picked up on that.

 

“It’s a start, Isabelle-” Luke began and Raphael grew impatient with their little bonding session.

 

“Lightwood! I’m leaving!” he called, kicking against the door lightly. He saw the doorknob turn.

 

“We’ll be waiting for Maia,” Luke said as the door opened. Raphael walked towards his bike, holding out a helmet for Isabelle as she kicked her leg over the back.

 

“I’ll see you around, Luke,” he said, before securing his own helmet and taking off into the night.

 

*

 

Raphael very gently traced the lines of Simon’s face. Once, when he had been eight, his mother had taken him to Our Lady’s Church. She had left him to pray while she spoke to the priest. Raphael remembered the statue there of the dead Christ, wrapped in his shroud, looking bruised and broken but peaceful.

 

He had traced his hands down Christ’s face much as he was now. Over nose and brows, resting on a cheek that had purpled with a bruise, though Simon’s was rapidly healing. A childlike desire to discover through touch.

 

And just like Christ, he wouldn’t ask Simon for forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

 

He had made a decision. He would train Simon. He would give Simon the things he needed to survive as a vampire. He would make sure that nothing,  _ nothing _ could happen to him.

 

He would not expect Simon to want anything more from him in return.

 

Raphael had known for a while that his own feelings were changing, that there was something deeper, more profound about the way he felt about Simon than friendship. He couldn’t say what it was, couldn’t say if it was strictly platonic or more than that. He couldn’t say if there was something inherently sexual about it or not.

 

He knew that his own selfish decision had led to this. Simon, undead, in the Hotel Dumort, having cried himself bitterly to sleep.

 

He would not allow their relationship to progress further. He could not allow his guilt to be alleviated so easily.

 

He remembered the prayer his mother would make him read in church whenever she’d caught him doing stupid things with his gang. Psalm 51.

 

“ _ I have sinned against you and done what you consider evil. So you are right in judging me; you are justified in condemning me _ ,” Raphael whispered, and cupped Simon’s jaw. Simon stirred then, so much more sensitive to noise than he had been. Raphael quickly withdrew his hand.

 

“Raphael?” he muttered sleepily. “Is it morning?”

 

“You mean evening, and no. Not yet, go back to sleep,” Raphael said. Simon frowned a little and resettled.

 

“Oh yeah… I wake up at night now,” he mumbled before he fell back asleep.

 

“Yeah. You wake up at night now,” Raphael said and covered his eyes with his hands.

 

*

 

“Maia?” Isabelle yelled, pushing the door open. It was broken off it’s hinges.

 

Raphael didn’t even bother to tell Isabelle to be careful. She had already drawn her whip and was crouched, carefully leading the way inside. Raphael followed her lead, keeping his eyes out.

 

“Maia?!” Isabelle tried again. Raphael took a deep breath. He could smell mold, some dirty dishes in the sink, but no wolf or any other living creature in the vicinity.

 

“She’s not here,” he said, straightening up. Isabelle continued into the apartment, pushing open the door to the lounge. Her whip clattered to the floor.

 

“Raphael…” she breathed and Raphael quickly walked forward.

 

The room was covered in blood. It was splashed up the walls, all over the floor. Maia’s things were scattered all over the floor. Books, papers, torn cushions, clothes, glass.

 

“Whatever did this wasn’t a mundane. Search for anything, any clue, any scrap of evidence-” Raphael ordered. Isabelle didn’t move though, her eyes scanning the room in horror.

 

“We should call Luke too,” she said. Raphael turned back to her to see that her shoulders were shaking. She hadn’t been expecting this. He suddenly remembered that, even though Isabelle Lightwood was strong, she was also still inexperienced. She still did not fully understand that things like this happened to normal people every day in cities like New York.

 

She wasn’t experienced.

 

“Fine, do it, I’ll look,” he said and turned back to the room, scouring it for evidence.

 

Around fifteen minutes later, Isabelle joined him. She was wearing gloves and slowly sifting through the things on the floor.

 

Raphael pretty quickly realised the records they wanted weren’t there. So he began looking for something, anything else. He wasn’t sure what, but he was certain that whoever, whatever, had attacked Maia was related to Simon.

 

“Raphael, it’s almost sun up. It’s not safe here for you anymore. You have to return to the Hotel Dumort,” Isabelle said to him at one point. He didn’t even look up from where he was carefully sorting through blood stained papers on Maia’s desk.

 

“Raphael!” Isabelle tried again and he turned to her to give her a piece of his mind when he heard someone move in the other room. He was about to launch into an attack when Luke walked into the room.

 

“Isabelle, I came as fast as I could,” he said. Raphael sighed and glanced at his watch. Isabelle had been right. He had to leave soon or else he would be dusted. At least there was someone else here, a Downworlder, who would make sure that whatever evidence was here wouldn’t disappear into the Institute.

 

“Don’t stop looking. I don’t care if you have to turn this place inside out, don’t you dare stop until you find something,” Raphael said. Luke gave him a somber look.

 

“I can handle this Raphael. Get yourself back to the Hotel Dumort. We’ll share any information we find,” he said. Raphael nodded and put his hand on Isabelle’s shoulder as he passed her.

 

He left a bloodied handprint.

 

*

 

Raphael wasn’t sure when it had gone from a simple kiss to this. He was pressed against the bed, Simon on top of him. He could feel Simon’s hands hesitantly sliding under his shirt and running along the skin there. Raphael gasped into Simon’s mouth, trying to get out of his own head and enjoy the sensations.

 

It was overwhelming.

 

He couldn’t remember it being like this before. Usually people’s touches brought physical responses but not this. Not something that seemed to satisfy not just his libido but also something else that he was pretty sure no one had reached inside him before.

 

Simon’s tongue ran against his and he felt Simon’s hips push down against his own. It was too much. He felt panic come at him in a tidal wave and he pushed on Simon’s shoulders.

 

“Simon, stop, stop,” he said. Simon immediately did, pulling away quickly and putting space between them. Raphael wanted the ground to swallow him up. He had sounded so  _ stupid _ .

 

“You alright?” Simon asked. Raphael sat up, running a hand through his hair and avoiding Simon’s eyes.

 

“I just… Shit,” he whispered and his shoulders hunched over. Simon sat up with him and rested a hand on the top of his back. It was such a soft, comforting gesture that Raphael felt even worse.

 

“What is it?” Simon asked and Raphael realised it was now or never. He had to say it.

 

“I… Look it's not that I haven't done this before. I know the physics of it but…” he trailed off. Simon was leaning to try to see his face and Raphael wanted more than ever to hide himself under the covers. Maybe he should have written this in a letter where he could be more eloquent?

 

“Go on...” Simon said and Raphael made the mistake of glancing at him. Simon’s brown eyes were warm and accepting and Raphael wondered when the last time he’d seen that was.

 

He knew.

 

It was from his mother, before she died.

 

“Look I’ve never really been attracted to anyone before and I'm not sure I am now, either…” he began. Simon’s face crumpled and Raphael quickly realised he’d made a mistake with how he’d worded that.

 

“Wait, you don't  _ like _ me?” Simon asked, drawing his hand off Raphael’s back. Raphael reached for it, managing to grab it before Simon could pull away completely.

 

“It isn't that. Fuck, I'm explaining this badly,” he said and frowned, trying to summon the explanation he wanted.

 

“It’s just I’ve never done this. Any of this. Not the whole wanting someone thing,” he said slowly. Simon didn’t try to escape him, but his eyes were intent on Raphael’s face.

 

“But you want me?” he clarified. Raphael didn’t know what to say. He just stared at Simon hopelessly. “I’m just trying to understand. Like… you’re not attracted to anyone, right? But you’re attracted to me? Is that what you’re saying?”

 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” Raphael replied, smiling. Simon laughed and leaned forward. The kiss was chaste, respectful, and Raphael felt something where his heart used to beat feel lighter.

 

“Maybe you’re demisexual?” Simon suggested when he pulled back.

 

“Bless you,” Raphael said and Simon gave him a small smile.

 

“It’s someone who isn’t attracted to anyone until they form a close bond to them,” he said. “It’s close to asexuality. Kind of under it’s umbrella.”

 

“Isn’t that just everyone?” Raphael asked. Simon rolled his eyes.

 

“Don’t be facetious. It’s a real thing,” he replied and stood up. “I’m gonna get some food, and my food I mean  _ delicious  _ cow’s blood. Do you want anything?”

 

Raphael shook his head and watched him go. For a moment he sat there, thinking about the conversation, before he grabbed his phone and opened his browser. He typed in ‘demisexual’ and began to scroll through the pages.

 

It… wasn’t entirely right, but not entirely wrong either. There were words there that he’d never come across before, never mind knew how to pronounce, but the more he read the more he realised they were just words for old concepts - things that had been around forever just never spoken about.

 

“You looked it up, didn’t you?” Simon said as he came back. He had a glass of cow’s blood in his hand and there was a stick of celery in the top. Obviously someone had made Simon’s drink for him. Simon still hadn’t quite got the memo about the whole ‘appearances matter’ thing.

 

“Yes,” Raphael replied, discarding his phone. Simon sat next to him, slurping up the blood. At least he didn’t look queasy doing it anymore.

 

“Was I right?” he asked, his lips quirking around the straw. Raphael shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Not entirely but it’s probably as close as I can explain,” he said. Simon nodded.

 

So… we can take things slow you know. We don’t have to do things like  _ that _ ,” he said, tilting the top of his head to the bed. Raphael followed his gaze.

 

“You don’t want to?” he asked. Simon set the half finished blood down, licking his lips.

 

“What? No, of course I do,” he said and then he looked like he wished he could take it back. Raphael sighed.

 

“And I do too, it’s just… I think it’s going to take me a while to… adjust and, I don’t know… I guess just sex stuff is never going to be a big deal to me,” he said. Simon nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.

 

“I get it, Raph, I do,” he said. Raphael gave him an unamused look.

 

“ _ Raph? _ ” he repeated. Simon grinned at him with bloodstained teeth.

 

“Yeah, we’ve grown closer right? So you’re Raph now,” he said. Raphael thought about it. No one had dared give him a nickname in years, at least not to his face. But once… once the people who had meant something to him had called him another name.

 

“My mom and brothers used to call me Rafa,” he said. Simon’s face broke into a full grin.

 

“Would you prefer that?” he asked. Raphael couldn’t help the half smile on his own face.

 

“I think I would.”

 

Raphael felt Simon crawl next to him on the bed and wrap his arms around him. For a moment he tensed, but Simon just pressed a kiss against his shoulder, resting his hands on Raphael’s stomach and whispering his name again happily.

 

He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but perhaps for the first time, he felt understood.

 

*

 

_ Realising that Simon meant more to me than other people had made me question many things about myself. It wasn’t that I had never had urges before Simon, only that there was something to do with our bond together that was more than friendship, more than something I had experienced with others before. Things were different. I  _ wanted _ things differently. _

 

_ I wasn’t Magnus. I didn’t see a 19 year old boy, barely out of school, and develop attraction to him. I had prided myself on not thinking with my dick or my emotions. Yet I couldn’t pretend there wasn’t something more, something stronger and it terrified me. _

 

_ Thinking that I would never get to see him again, thinking that he had been seeing Maia, that she had been able to discover his whereabouts faster than I had, thinking all the stupid shit that I blamed myself for… _

 

_ But we found a clue, that day. Between the werewolves and the shadowhunters, they pieced something together. _

 

_ Just the name of a woman - Maureen. _


	5. The Black Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know that scene in the Blues Brothers where they try to escape out of the service tunnel and then Carrie Fisher is there waiting for them?” Luke asked. Isabelle frowned.
> 
> “Luke, I am a shadowhunter… I didn’t spend the last eighteen or so years chilling and watching movies,” she replied. She was about to step around him when Luke grabbed her.
> 
> “Yeah well you better duck, because I was referencing it for a reason,” he said. Chaos erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the updated tags. This chapter includes a look into Raphael's past as a teenager (15), and his experiences with the gang he led then. It contains references to underage sex as well as someone on the asexual spectrum being pressured into sex which may be triggering for some. The scene is marked by double asterisks (**) so you can skip over it if it's triggering to you. 
> 
> It also includes a good bit of body horror and mentions stalking. It's the first chapter that is majority Isabelle's point of view.

_ Maureen Brown was not really a person I knew that well. I knew Simon used to be in a band, before he found out about the Shadow World, but that he’d given it up. I had never asked him how he felt about it. Thinking back, that was incredibly selfish of me. It was clearly something he’d felt passionate about, but I had never once asked him about it… _

 

_ In any case, the voice mail told me all that Isabelle knew. Maureen was a fan of Simon’s, she’d played with the band and she had a rather obvious crush on him. _

 

_ As far as Isabelle knew, she’d never known Maia, but Isabelle said she couldn’t be sure about it. _

 

_ There were a lot of things we didn’t know about Maureen Brown, but by the time the day was over, she was going to have only raised even more questions. _

 

*

 

“You sure this is the place?” Isabelle asked, pushing at the grate and grimacing at the smell. Luke nodded.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” he said and gestured to the ground. Isabelle crouched down and inspected the floor. Tiny corpses littered the floor, rats with puncture wounds. A vampire was living down here. And it was living off rats.

 

“This place is creepy as all hell,” she said as she stood up. Luke didn’t reply and instead began to move further into the sewage tunnel. Isabelle followed him, her heels clicking on the concrete less often than she’d like. She didn’t want to know what she was stepping in.

 

Luke suddenly came to a corner and stopped. Isabelle reached for her seraph blade.

 

“You know that scene in the Blues Brothers where they try to escape out of the service tunnel and then Carrie Fisher is there waiting for them?” Luke asked. Isabelle frowned.

 

“Luke, I am a shadowhunter… I didn’t spend the last eighteen or so years chilling and watching movies,” she replied. She was about to step around him when Luke grabbed her.

 

“Yeah well you better duck, because I was referencing it for a reason,” he said and then he kicked out a rock from the corner he was hiding behind.

 

Chaos erupted. Isabelle ducked as the tunnel erupted into light and smoke and loud bangs that made her ears ring. Luke was crouched over her, shielding her from whatever it was that they had set off.

 

When the noise stopped, Isabelle glanced around to see holes all over the walls.

 

Bullets. It had been bullets.

“By the Angel! Was that an assault rifle?” she asked, seeing no point in keeping her voice down. Luke moved from over her and carefully peered around the corner.

  
  


“I have no idea what she’s doing…” he said and then raised his voice. “Maureen? Maureen, it’s Luke Garroway  from the NYPD!”

 

“Stay away! How did you find me?” A thin voice called back. Isabelle cursed. She was further away than she’d thought. Disarming her would be nigh impossible.

 

“Look, Maureen, you just have to listen-” he tried but then the gunfire started again and Luke ducked back around the corner.

 

“Retreat!” he yelled and Isabelle didn’t need telling twice. She ran after him, the sounds echoing around the chambers. Only once they were back in sunlight did they stop running, doubled over and panting as they blinked away the darkness and tried to fill their lungs with sweet, fresh air.

 

“What are we going to do?” Isabelle asked once she had her breath back. Luke shrugged.

 

“We’re gonna get back-up.”

 

*

 

“Her name is Maureen Brown,” Raphael said, holding up a picture. Camille sat in her coffin, arms crossed and didn’t even look at it.

 

“Camille, answer me,” he growled. Camille met his eyes, dismissing the photo with her hand.

 

“The way I see it, the longer you go without an answer, the longer I’m out of the box,” she said. The vampires around her shifted nervously. No one wanted to get in a fight over this. They were wary of having her unlocked at all.

 

Raphael had managed to cow dissent through decent leadership, but he knew over the last few days there had been talk, mutterings in the Hotel Dumort that Raphael had lost his edge over Simon. Sure, some appreciated his loyalty to one of their own, but others, an up until then silent minority, had yearned for Camille’s cold, detached brutality.

 

“Did you turn her?” Raphael asked, brokering no room for argument in his tone. Camille regarded him for a moment, a slow smile working up her face.

 

“What has got into you? What could possibly have made you frantic like this?” she mused, tapping her chin before her eyes widened in vindictive delight.

 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . My poor, sweet Raphael. Did someone get your fledgling?” she asked before cackling. A vampire behind Raphael surged forward, but Raphael put out a hand to stop him. It was Luis and Raphael remembered he’d been working with Simon to try to add things to blood to make it taste differently with some rather interesting results. The two of them had a friendship, of sorts.

 

It reminded Raphael that, no matter what, there were vampires here who cared about Simon in different ways to him.

 

“Be quiet,” Raphael warned. Camille rolled her eyes.

 

“I thought you wanted me to talk?” she retorted. Raphael felt Luis strain against his arm but the vampire didn’t move beyond it.

 

“Tell me, did you sire Maureen Brown?” Raphael asked, keeping his tone measured. Camille sighed.

 

“No, I didn’t. She’s not connected to me in any way,” she said dismissively. Raphael believed her.

 

“Do you know of any other vampires operating in the city?” he asked and Camille shrugged.

 

“Clearly there are. Why don’t you run along and find out?” she replied. Raphael looked at her face, saw that there was nothing to be done about it and dropped his arm.

 

“Box her up,” he ordered. Luis looked like he was going to relish the opportunity. Before they managed to shut the lid though, Camille spoke in a calm voice.

 

“Be careful, Raphael. Seems like there’s more than just vampires that come out at night,” she warned.

 

For all her faults, her twistedness, Raphael knew that was a genuine warning.

 

*

 

“How’s Raphael?” Magnus asked. He was drinking a margarita while he poured over a text on vampire tracking. Isabelle had asked him to revisit the topic, even knowing that no one else had ever managed to work out how to track them. Perhaps Magnus, in his brilliance, could come up with something that would work?

 

Alec was doing some research of his own, a book open in front of him that he was carefully making notes from. Isabelle watched the two of them, sat at opposite ends of Magnus’ dining table, and couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Oh, you know, mad with worry,” she replied, sitting on the couch and sipping the coffee Magnus had got her. She was pleased to find he’d added a healthy dash of chocolate liquor. It warmed on the way down.

 

She was  _ exhausted _ .

 

“I would never have thought I’d see the day,” Magnus mused, turning a page.

 

“Raphael must have had people he was close to before?” Alec asked, glancing up from his book. “He’s been alive, what, sixty, seventy years?”

 

“Oh, not really. There are people he’s cared about, his family for sure, but never romantically. I always assumed he was ace,” Magnus replied flippantly. Isabelle shifted awkwardly.

 

“Should we be discussing this like we’re just commenting on the weather?” she asked. Alec looked at her and then seemed to realise how gossipy he sounded and buried his nose back in his book.

 

“Oh spoil sport. Anyway, Isabelle, tell us more about the case. What have you found out,” Magnus asked, looking up and turning in his chair to face her.

 

“Seems that there is a woman who might know something called Maureen. Unfortunately for us, she opened fire on us. Must’ve been a hundred rounds,” Isabelle said, shrugging. Alec looked up sharply, worry etched into every line on his face.

 

“Angel, Izzy, are you alright?” he asked. Isabelle held up her arms.

 

“Do I look injured? Luke managed to get us behind cover pretty fast,” she said. Alec’s eyes gave her a once-over before he was satisfied. He didn’t return to his book.

 

“Luke? You didn’t wait for Raphael?” Magnus asked. Isabelle shrugged, taking another sip of coffee and relaxing into the couch. Perhaps she could get just a little nap in? Just a short one, just enough to take the edge off?

 

“It was daylight by the time we found her. Besides, he’s lending his expertise elsewhere,” she said, setting her coffee down and plumping a cushion behind her. Magnus was frowning.

 

“Elsewhere? What could be more important than a fresh lead?” Magnus asked. Isabelle let her head fall back with a groan.

 

“Another fresh lead. Someone said Maureen’s a vampire and no one knows who her sire is. Raphael is asking Camille,” she replied. There was an awkward pause and she raised her head to see Magnus was wearing a dark expression.

 

“She didn’t get out did she?” he asked. Isabelle glanced at Alec to see that he was looking at Magnus, concern on his face. She didn’t blame them for being worried. Camille’s involvement in Magnus’ curse had led to Raphael leading a coup against Camille and locking her in the basement. Of course if she got out, Magnus would be worried she’d come after him again.

 

“Not that Raphael’s aware of but… I think there’s something serious going on at the Hotel Dumort right now,” she said. “I think Camille might be stirring up trouble amongst the vampires somehow.”

 

“Simon goes missing and something is up with Camille. A coincidence, I think not,” Magnus said. Isabelle sat up. She was clearly not going to get her nap until she allayed Magnus’ fears.

 

“You can’t be seriously suggesting she can do anything while being locked in a coffin?” she asked. Magnus shrugged.

 

“She’s done worse for less reason. If she can mess with Raphael, I wouldn’t put it past her to defy physics like some kind of Schrodinger's Vampire,” Magnus replied and Isabelle sighed, rubbing at her face. She knew she probably had smudged her eyeliner, but it was a small sacrifice.

 

“I don’t think Camille is behind this. She wouldn’t throw another vampire to the dogs that way,” Isabelle said, reaching for her coffee again. No sleep meant more caffeine.

 

“Have you asked her?” Magnus asked and Isabelle regarded him over the top of her coffee cup, irritated. Luckily, Alec seemed to sense the growing storm.

 

“Leave it, Magnus,” he said. Magnus looked at him sideways but Isabelle knew that he would capitulate now it was the two Lightwoods against him. Her brother’s baby-blues would no doubt convince him much better than Isabelle’s.

 

“I’m allowed to be salty. Why should she get away with what she did to me and you?” Magnus asked petulantly. Alec smiled, clearly having more patience than Isabelle and reached across the table to squeeze Magnus’ hand.

 

“It doesn’t mean she did anything to Simon,” he reminded him. Magnus ran his thumb over the back of Alec’s hand in a gesture that was clearly automatic. Isabelle held back a comment about how cute they were.

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Magnus conceded and Isabelle felt the tension leave her. The last thing she needed was Magnus meddling in the Hotel Dumort with Raphael being so… out of sorts.

 

“So what are you gonna do?” Alec asked, turning back to Isabelle. She turned the coffee mug in her hands as she thought.

 

“Let Raphael pump Camille for information then take Maureen on again,” she said.

 

“Sounds safe,” Magnus commented but he didn’t add to it.

 

“Well, bullets will be less effective against Raphael,” Isabelle pointed out. Alec shifted uncomfortably before he stood up to pace. Isabelle recognised it as her brother’s worried pace and waited for him to get it off his chest.

 

“Except by all accounts, Maureen has mauled a werewolf and then opened fire on an alpha and a shadowhunter already. Sending Raphael alone is suicide. For all we know she’s with the group of vampires that turned Simon in the first place. We never did track them down,” he said, hands going to his pockets. Magnus was watching him pace with a fond smile.

 

“Someone has to talk to her,” Isabelle pointed out.

 

“It should be the Clave. Isn’t that what we keep you around for? Arrest her, interrogate her,” Magnus said, waving a hand. Alec winced.

 

“We can’t involve the Clave. They’d want to know why were were involved in the first place. It would draw too many questions when we’ve been essentially told that working on anything except Valentine right now is desertion,” Isabelle said. Magnus didn’t even look at her, he was watching Alec’s face.

 

Isabelle glanced at her brother and got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

She had seen that face before, last Christmas when Alec had jumped through a portal against their father’s warnings and headed to the Hotel Dumort to arrest Camille.

 

“Well, you’re not doing this alone. I’m going with you,” he said firmly. Isabelle felt a surge of love along with the impatience.

 

“Alec, they’re watching you like a hawk,” she reminded him. Alec stopped pacing, setting his shoulders, his legs apart as though ready to fight her on it.

 

“So? You’re my sister. I’m not going to let you walk into danger alone,” he said. Isabelle knew there was no point in arguing. With Jace gone, all they had left of their little family was each other. She nodded slowly.

 

“Well, if  _ he’s _ going…” Magnus began and trailed off. Isabelle gave him an amused glance but Alec had whipped around.

 

“Magnus that’s a bad idea,” he protested. Isabelle hid a smile behind her hand.

 

“May I remind you that I am one of the most powerful warlocks in America, if not the world? I am perfectly capable of handling myself against one vampire. Even with an assault weapon,” Magnus said, getting to his feet. Blue fire danced over his fingertips as he wiggled them at Alec.

 

“I’m glad to hear it.”

 

Isabelle jumped. She hadn’t heard Raphael come in, but suddenly he was there. He had pulled a leather jacket on over a plain black t-shirt. It all looked very fitted and expensive, though Isabelle wasn’t sure if that was because everything Raphael owned was, or if it was for a special occasion.

 

“Camille has no useful information for us,” Raphael said, walking into the centre of the room and looking around at them all. Isabelle got to her feet, leaving the comfort of the couch behind.

 

“None? You mean a vampire showed up in her territory and she knew nothing? I don’t believe it,” Magnus said. Raphael looked him up and down and Isabelle saw that he quickly got the measure of him. To his credit, Raphael didn’t rise to the bait, he simply clenched his hands into fists.

 

“Maureen was not made by her. Camille has no link with her. She thinks she’s fresher than Simon,” he explained. Magnus shrugged but Alec was rubbing his neck as he thought.

 

“That means it was under your watch, Raphael,” he said.

 

“I’m aware of the implications,” Raphael replied. Isabelle looked between the two of them. Alec didn’t look accusatory though, merely like he was trying to work on a particularly complex riddle.

 

“Well, you’ll have us on hand this time,” Magnus said, putting a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. Raphael looked at it and then carefully removed it. Isabelle chuckled.

 

“Comforting,” Raphael said once he’d taken a step away from Magnus. Magnus looked amused rather than offended.

 

“You helped me once. It’s a debt,” he said. Raphael rolled his eyes.

 

_ “Las deudas son como los niños: cuanto más pequeñas son, más ruido hacen,”  _ he said. Isabelle laughed and she saw Alec was frowning at the two of them. Clearly he hadn’t paid much attention in Spanish class.

 

_ “Lo que hecho pecho,  _ _ mi vampiro guapo,”  _ Magnus said and blew a kiss at Raphael who looked horrified.

 

_ “Eres repugnante,”  _ he said but Isabelle could see the first traces of a smile in eyes for the first time in over a week. 

 

“Stop flirting, you two,” she said, aware that Alec was not following the conversation at all. Alec, however, was still looking thoughtful.

 

“I don’t know. It sounded interesting,” he said. Isabelle laughed. Of course. Of course he brother would find any talent of Magnus’ fascinating.

 

“I didn’t know you liked it when I spoke Spanish. I am definitely keeping that in mind for future explorations,” Magnus purred. Raphael put his hand to his forehead.

 

“My beautiful language and you, of course, use it for the most basic things,” he said. Magnus gave him a grin that was downright sinful.

 

“Finished yet?” Isabelle asked, holding up her phone. They all turned to her, humor and playfulness disappearing. She was sad to see it go, but they had something to do after all. “Right, let’s call Luke and get this show on the road.”

 

*

 

“This is a sewer drain,” Alec said and Isabelle nodded, pulling on the grate cover that blocked off the end of the tunnel. Magnus’ looked like he was seriously regretting coming along.

 

“It smells so bad,” Alec said, coughing and covering his mouth with his hand. Isabelle pulled out a mask from her pocket and handed it to her brother who quickly put it on. There was the sound of retching from behind them.

 

_ “Dios mio…”  _ Raphael groaned. Blood had splattered the sidewalk where he had vomited up his breakfast. Isabelle wrinkled her nose.

 

“ _ That _ is disgusting,” she said. Raphael glared at her.

 

“Try having our sense of smell here,” Luke said, peering into the dark.

 

“ _ You’re _ fine,” Alec pointed out. Luke flashed him a grin.

 

“I put menthol rub under my nose before we came. An old police trick,” he confided. Alec raised his eyebrows but Raphael had clearly had enough. He brushed past them all, still looking like he might throw up any minute.

 

“Shut up all of you,” he said and he walked into the tunnel. Isabelle shrugged and followed behind him.

 

The place was just as disgusting as she remembered it though this time she’d worn boots in preparation. They crept along the tunnels until they got to the corner they’d got to before. Isabelle held up her hand and then nodded to Magnus.

 

He cracked his knuckles before, with an elaborate gesture creating the flash grenade effect they’d discussed. They quickly covered their eyes before launching into action.

 

Raphael and Luke led the charge, just in case, but no bullets met them. Isabelle and Alec followed, Alec with an arrow notched in his bow ready to take Maureen out if needed. It seemed they needn’t have bothered.

 

Raphael and Luke had managed to back Maureen into a corner of her makeshift home. Her bed was discarded blankets, stained with god knew what and lined in newspapers. A small fire was burning in a baking tray.

 

The rifle that she’d used to shoot at them before was rapidly sinking into the mire that flowed through a grate beside them.

 

“You’re back again?” Maureen asked, and her voice sounded weird. Strained. There was something not right about her at all. Isabelle glanced at Raphael to see that he was giving her an intent look, like he’d just figured something out and was still trying to find evidence to justify his reasoning.

 

“We’re looking for Simon,” Alec said, keeping his bow raised. Maureen’s dark eyes turned to him and she looked confused.

 

“Simon?” she repeated dumbly. There was something in the way she said the name though that reminded Isabelle of the way subjugates said the name of their masters.

 

“You are Maureen, aren’t you?” Raphael checked. She looked Raphael up and down for a moment before she smiled.

 

“My name is Maureen,” she acknowledged. Isabelle couldn’t explain why it felt like something was crawling up and down her spine, but she could see the others were just as affected. Magnus was shifting uncomfortably at her side, shifting blue fire at his fingertips.

 

“We just want to ask you a few questions. We know you were at Maia’s,” Raphael continued and Isabelle wondered at how calm he sounded. Maureen’s gaze was fixed on Raphael. Isabelle wasn’t sure she’d seen her blink.

 

“Yeah and she got what she deserved too. They’ll never let her get away now,” she said. Isabelle’s stomach churned at the words.

 

“Who won’t?” Luke asked and that tore Maureen’s attention away from Raphael. Isabelle saw the change come over her expression and then she felt it, the strength of a vampire’s encanto trying to overcome her will. Maureen had no subtlety, she clearly was incredibly new and had never been taught how to use it properly.

 

“No, no, first you have to tell me where Simon is. You said you’re looking for him, so you have an idea right?” she said in a sickeningly sweet tone. Isabelle threw off her encanto, and knew that Alec and Magnus had done the same. Luke was shaking his head from side to side as though trying to still fight it.

 

“Some guys in suits took him from a hotel,” Raphael said and Maureen’s entire demeanour changed again. 

 

“No. No that’s not right. That can’t be right! NO!” She clutched at her hair, shaking, eyes wide.

 

“You are made of crazy, aren’t you?” Magnus muttered and took a step forward. Isabelle had no idea what his intention had been but Maureen immediately looked up at him and dropped into a defensive posture.

 

“Stay back!” she yelled. Magnus froze.

 

“You hurt Maia, didn’t you?” Raphael asked. Maureen looked far more wary than she had before.

 

“She got close to Simon. They showed me all those pictures of them together. They said that they’d heard they were  _ dating _ . So I went to Simon’s mom to check. She was so nice, so encouraging towards me. I knew that I had to get rid of Maia so that Simon and I could be together,” she said and Isabelle realised how delusional this girl was. She was so young, but there had been something wrong with her even before any of this had happened to her.

 

“Maia wasn’t dating Simon,” Isabelle said, trying to channel Raphael’s calm.

 

“Well it doesn’t matter now, because she’s gone!” Maureen cackled gleefully.

 

“What did you do with her Maia?” Isabelle asked and she took a step forward so she was by Raphael’s side. She felt Raphael gently brush the back of his hand against her own and knew it was a warning to move forward no further.

 

“I took her where they told me to, of course. They said they’d take it out if I did,” Maureen replied. Isabelle frowned. She had no  _ idea _ what that meant.

 

“Take it out? Who said?” That was Alec, much more to the point and confrontational than the rest of them. Maureen seemed to have decided she wasn’t going to acknowledge he was there at all.

 

“Do you know how I was Turned?” she asked. Isabelle saw Luke finally clear his head and he growled low in his throat.

 

“We don’t have time for this!” he hissed. Maureen appeared to have decided he wasn’t worth talking to either because her gaze was fixed on Raphael and Isabelle.

 

“She can do what she likes. This is her home,” Raphael said calmly and Maureen gave him a small smile.

 

“We don’t know how you Turned. Please tell us,” Isabelle said. Maureen put a finger to her lips as though she was thinking, even though her eyes told Isabelle it was all a play for time and perhaps attention.

 

“I told you, didn’t I? That I visited Simon’s house. After he quit the band I used to wait there for him, sometimes. But he started coming less and less… And then a few days ago he came home again and so I decided to drop in,” Maureen said. Isabelle felt Raphael tense beside him.

 

The girl that Simon’s mother had thought he was seeing. It hadn’t been Maia. It had been Maureen.

 

“You were stalking him?” Raphael asked, the calmness leaking from his voice. Maureen’s face scrunched up in anger.

 

“I’m not a stalker! I’m his girlfriend! Anyway, he seemed out of it, confused, hurt. So I tried to comfort him. He bit me. At the time, I didn’t really understand it, but after he gave me this look that said he had never, ever wanted to hurt me. He apologised to me over and over again and ran away-” Maureen’s expression had gone dreamy but Isabelle had heard enough.

 

“Simon would never-” she began but Raphael grabbed her wrist tightly.

 

“Simon would,” he said quietly. “Biting people isn’t against the Accords. He was probably out of sorts and hungry. He still hadn’t quite got control of his appetite. He’s still only a baby after all, he can’t control himself well when his emotions are high.”

 

Isabelle had never thought about how much Simon had to control himself to be around them. She had never considered him dangerous, he was just  _ Simon _ . She began to realise that she had never truly understood what Simon and Raphael must have gone through to be able to have any semblance of normal lives.

 

Maureen, however, didn’t seem to care about any of it. She made a noise of impatience and continued to tell her story.

 

“Then  _ they _ came. And they took me. They made me drink these disgusting things and then they hooked me up to machines. They tested how much pain I could take. Can you even imagine how much pain a human being can endure?” Maureen asked and for the first time she looked normal again, the expression of pain and fear on her face completely accurate for what she was describing. Isabelle couldn’t feel pity for her, but she could feel less repulsed.

 

“And then they slashed my throat and threw me in a dumpster,” Maureen said dismissively. Magnus made a noise in his throat that said he clearly thought this needed to wrap up soon.

 

“But I woke up, didn’t I? I woke up and I was better. I was stronger. I realised what I could be. I realised that this was the gift Simon had been trying to give me,” Maureen’s expression had clouded again. Isabelle heard Raphael heave a sigh.

 

“She’s insane,” he muttered. Maureen, however, lost in memories, didn’t hear him.

 

“But then that Maia was around the house all the time… Asking questions. I hadn’t found Simon yet, but  _ she _ couldn’t find him before me. What if he gave her the gift he gave me?” Maureen asked and stamped her foot.

 

“She was a werewolf. She could never have been a vampire,” Isabelle explained, though it hardly mattered now. Whatever Maureen had done to Maia had already happened.

 

“Well, she’ll never be one anyway now. Not now they’ve given her  _ that, _ ” Maureen crowed gleefully. Her happiness at the downfall of another made Isabelle feel sick.

 

“Tell us who they are!” Luke yelled. Maureen glared at him, irritated that her story kept being derailed by their questions. 

 

“I don’t know, but I know what they put in you. I know what they shove into your blood, into your brain. I saw the other bodies in that dumpster, the rejects who never came back quite right,” she said with a shrug.

 

“What they put in you?” Raphael asked and Maureen grinned and touched her neck.

 

“Do you want to see? You can see it if you like?” Her nails dug into the flesh there. Isabelle took an involuntary step back as Maureen ripped open her throat, blood pouring down her chest. Raphael moved in front of her, in a protective gesture she’d never thought he’d use towards her.

 

Something was slowly growing from the wound in Maureen’s neck. Sharp, bone-like protrusions that jutted out of her throat. It pushed up into her jaw, through her skin, out of her back. It grew until it stood, three feet out from her throat, pointed and glistening with blood.

 

“Holy shit what the hell is that?” Magnus asked, the fire in his hands growing in his panic.

 

No one had time to answer before Maureen rushed at them with a noise that was inhuman. Isabelle felt Raphael push her to one side, his inhuman speed thankfully getting them out of the way before the hideous spikes could puncture them.

 

“She’s faster than she should be,” Raphael commented, moving so that he was at Isabelle’s back so they couldn’t be attacked from the flank. In the corner, by the edge of the mire, Alec, Magnus and Luke were all deflecting blow after blow.

 

Isabelle began to run towards them, ready to lend her aid but the moment she moved from protecting Raphael’s back, Maureen rushed past her.

 

“RAPH-” she began to shout but Raphael was one step ahead of her. Isabelle felt herself being grabbed and spun around. The spikes were less than an inch from her face. Raphael had grabbed hold of one of the spears and was keeping Maureen in place.

 

“Lightwood! Now!” he ordered. Isabelle didn’t need telling again. She lunged forward and quickly stabbed Maureen in the heart.

 

She erupted in a cloud of dust, strange mutation and all.

 

“What the fuck was that thing?” Magnus asked, running over to them and kicking at the dust with his shoe.

 

“I have no idea but I need to let Camille out now,” Raphael said, already turning his back on the pile of ash and walking towards exit.

 

“What?” Magnus said and she saw his own sense of self-preservation warring with his desire to find Simon.

 

“If there’s a disease affecting Downworlders, one that causes  _ that _ , we need to know as much as we can, as soon as we can,” Raphael said over his shoulder. Magnus took a few steps after him.

 

“What makes you think it’s a disease?” he called. Raphael paused, putting his hands in his pockets and looking up at the ceiling of the sewer. Isabelle thought she’d never seen him look so tired.

 

“Simon met with a drugs testing company. Maureen was bitten by him and she tried to bite people here who should not have been attractive smelling to her. Whatever it was, it was trying to spread,” Raphael said calmly. Magnus looked pale.

 

“You think Simon has this?” Isabelle asked, her voice shaking.

 

“I hope not, but we need answers. If Camille knows anything about this, we need to find out, now,” Raphael replied and then walked away.

 

The four of them that were left stood there for a moment, trying to take stock of what it was that they had discovered. This could be big, bigger than the Downworld. If it was Valentine, it could spell disaster for the shadowhunters, if it was something else, it could be a disaster for the Downworlders.

 

“I feel like if Simon were here he’d make some reference to some video game or movie right now,” Magnus said. Isabelle appreciated he was trying to lighten the mood, but she honestly couldn’t see how anyone could make the situation better with jokes at that moment.

 

“I don’t think there’s any need for you to fill his shoes, Magnus,” she said. Magnus put his arm around her shoulder.

 

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” he said and they began to make their way out of the tunnel.

 

**

 

They met behind a botanical store owned by a Dominican man who complained about the noise. Raphael had known about the place for a while, but he’d never been invited there. Not until tonight.

 

They had set a bonfire in the center and were sat around on crates. A few of them, the ones that were already in work, had cars that they’d parked around the perimeter to prevent people from seeing what they were doing. The fires flickered off the car paint and chrome and the richly painted walls.

 

“Everyone, meet our newest baby. Baby, say hi,” Emiliano said. He was older than Raphael, eighteen or nineteen, and he was the neighbourhood’s go-to man for when they had trouble. Tensions had been rising recently, and Raphael had seen Emiliano strike fear into those who wanted to cause trouble for the new families in the neighbourhood.

 

“He looks Mexican,” that was a tall, brutish looking Puerto-Rican called Antonio. Raphael dismissed him. He was all bark and no bite, no brains either.

  
The others around the fire were all looking at Raphael with interest though, some with lazy smiles on their faces. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and bonfire flames, Raphael could make out many of the young men and women from church. And many of those who had stopped attending recently.

 

“He looks brown and he speaks Spanish so he’s with us,” Emiliano said with a tone of finality. Raphael saw that most of them accepted it easily enough, though they were still curiously peering at him.

 

“Whatever you say, Emiliano,” Antonio muttered and took a drag of his cigarette, clearly trying to save face.

 

“Well, he’s a cute one at least,” a girl said. She was perhaps a year or two older than Raphael and was wearing a white polkadot sundress. Her hair was done up in curls and she wore bright red lipstick that made Raphael think of fire hydrants.

 

“Don’t let those dark eyes fool you, Renata, he’s made of something tougher. I saw him take on some Irish guy three times his size and win,” Emiliano said and clapped Raphael’s shoulder with pride. Raphael just shrugged.

 

Kieran had threatened his brother.  _ No one _ threatened his family.

 

“Even a Jack Russell can win a fight with a bear if it’s lucky enough,” Antonio muttered, clearly not prepared to let it drop. Raphael wondered if his macho pride really was taking a knock by having some scrappy Mexican fifteen-year old join their group.

 

“Well, let’s hope you don’t take on this terrier and find out,” Renata said, chuckling. Antonio scowled at her and threw his cigarette into the bonfire.

 

“What say you, baby? Wanna go a few rounds?” he asked. Raphael stared at him before cocking his head to the side.

 

“Are you trying to hit me or hit on me?” he asked. “The way you say ‘baby’ makes me unsure.”

 

Antonio lunged for him but Emiliano got in between them quickly. He put his hand on the Puerto Rican’s chest and gave him a stern look. Antonio gave Raphael a look of disgust before he spat on the floor at his feet and walked away.

 

“Got a mouth on him, I’ll give him that,” Renata said and then handed Emiliano a bottle. Raphael watched as he took a swig of it before he handed it over to Raphael.

 

“What’s this?” he asked, sniffing it. He coughed. The alcohol inside was so strong that it made his eyes water.

 

“This is the best  _ pitorro _ you have ever tasted,” Emiliano said with a laugh. Raphael tried to hand him back the bottle.

 

“I don’t drink,” he said, but Emiliano pushed the bottle back towards him.

 

“Oh, you do tonight, baby. We all drink tonight to celebrate Raphael Santiago joining us!” Emiliano raised his voice for that and a cry went up around the gathered teenagers as they toasted their new recruit. Raphael found himself being encouraged to take a swig from the bottle.

 

He did it quickly, grimacing as it burned on the way down. Emiliano laughed and showed him around. Many of the boys forced another drink on him to drink to their newfound friendship and Raphael soon found his head was spinning.

 

He had to sit down in a corner by one of the cars, trying to get his head straight. He smelled a waft of perfume and looked up to see Renata was stood there, her hand on her hips.

 

“I said before you have a pretty face. Not like the other ugly brutes here,” she said with a smile. Raphael tried to think of something appropriate to say but he had no idea what. It seemed Renata didn’t mind too much though, because she continued anyway.

 

“Raphael, huh? I guess your mamá predicted you were gonna look like a painting,” she said. Raphael wished he had drank less so he could focus on the kinds of things you were supposed to say when a pretty girl showed attention to you.

 

“What is it you want?” he asked and realised pretty fast that wasn’t what most teenage boys would say to a beautiful woman who was clearly flirting with them.

 

“Hey, baby, you watch yourself with her! She’s good at getting what she wants!” Emiliano called from the fire.

 

“Shut your mouth Emiliano!” Renata yelled back, but she was smiling. She leaned forward, her long curled hair falling over her shoulders.

 

“Why don’t we go some place quiet and I can explain it to you, hm?” she whispered into his ear. Raphael felt her pull him to his feet and into one of the parked cars. The moment the door shut, Raphael felt like the walls were closing in on him.

 

“How old  _ are _ you?” Renata asked suddenly.

 

“Fifteen,” Raphael answered automatically. Renata seemed to be doing the maths in her head.

 

“Within the law,” she said with a shrug. Raphael’s hands made fists in his lap. He was pretty sure he knew where this was going and he had no idea how to derail it, or even if he wanted to.

 

“How old are you?” he asked. Renata gave him an amused look and Raphael appreciated, at least superficially, that she was extremely attractive. He was pretty sure that most men wouldn’t be protesting being trapped in a car with someone like her.

 

“Old enough that I should know better than to ride with this crowd, Raphael, and old enough to know you don’t need to do the same,” she replied. Raphael tried to work out what she meant but it was hard when his head was swimming.

 

“You don’t know anything about me,” he protested. Renata rested a hand on his knee.

 

“You’re right. I don’t. But I’m telling you, eventually, they gonna get in trouble. And when they do they will drag you down with them,” she said. Raphael looked down at her hand. Her nails were painted red to patch her lips.

 

“Why are we here? So you can give me this warning?” he asked, and Renata’s hand on his thigh squeezed.

 

“Baby, I’m here to give you power,” she purred.

 

“Power?” he repeated dumbly.

 

“You saw Antonio, all chest out and posturing. Having power is all about being able to inspire loyalty and playing with the expectations of your followers. This isn’t the kind of group where you get by unless you can play the machismo game,” she explained. Raphael understood what she was saying.

 

He’d seen what happened to Fabian when his brother had found out he’d been sucking dick over in the Bronx. He’d seen the way he’d limped into church only to be rejected by the congregation. He’d heard the way people had talked, how they should have known that Fabian was that way. The way he dressed, the way he spoke, the way he didn’t stand up for his family. Hell, they had even critiqued the way he smoked cigarettes.

 

Raphael had realised pretty quickly that he needed to fit in.

 

“Why do you even care if I’m an underdog?” he asked. Renata’s hand was sliding up his leg. Raphael’s heart was beating faster. It was strange, a disconnected feeling. His body was ready to go, but his mind was thinking only of the politics, of what she could possibly get out of this, and of Fabian’s battered face as he’d been turned away that day.

 

“You’ll learn soon enough that sometimes being someone’s second in command and leading from the bottom is good enough. That’s what I do. I pick the leaders and then they lead for me,” she said. Raphael thought it made no sense.

 

“You’ve barely known me an hour,” he pointed out. Renata’s hands had moved up to his belt now and he put his hand over hers, stopping her. He needed time to think about it.

 

“No, but I’ve seen you in church. You’re a good boy. You could be a good leader, some day. But you gotta know how to lead. You gotta win their respect,” she said. Raphael snorted.

 

“And you think sleeping with you will do that?” he asked. Renata fixed him with her stare, dark eyes framed by darker eyelashes. He realised she had a beauty spot under her right eye.

 

“I don’t pretend to know  _ you _ , but I know this. Those boys out there, they understand few things. How to have sex with women, get drunk on  _ pitorro _ and smoke their dumb cigarettes. They aren’t big time players yet. Winning them over is as simple as sticking it in a girl a few times and making a reputation for yourself as a guy not to be messed with,” she said. Raphael looked away from her.

 

“I can do that without you,” he said.

 

“Yeah and with a face like yours they are going to think you’re a…” Renata trailed off thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps you are?”

 

“I’m not,” Raphael said quickly. Blood on the church floor filled his mind, the condemning words of Fabian’s parents…

 

He left his hand from Renata’s on his belt.

 

“Trust me, this’ll work,” Renata said.

 

It took less than twenty minutes, all in all, for Raphael to lose his virginity. He felt no different afterwards. He felt no connection. He felt no attraction to Renata. He felt nothing except vaguely hollow.

 

“See you around, baby,” Renata said, getting out of the car.

 

He realised it had never been about his power at all. She had just wanted power over him.

 

“Raphael! There’s my man!” Emiliano called, waving a nearly empty bottle of  _ pitorro _ at him. Raphael took it and took a long drink.

 

“Sorry, I was with Renata,” he said. Emiliano’s eyes twinkled.

 

“She’s good, right? What a night to be alive for you. You get to join us and became a real man,” he laughed. Raphael offered him a thin smile, trying not to gag.

 

“Did you hear that, Antonio? Raphael beat you to it with Renata. Maybe we should have never stopped calling you ‘baby’ after all?” Emiliano crowed at Antonio. Antonio glared at Raphael across the fire but Raphael didn’t show any emotion back. He cared no more about any of this than he did the alcohol flowing through his veins.

 

Still, perhaps he wasn’t bottom of the pile after all.

 

“What did I tell you, baby? It’s all about power,” Renata murmured to him as she walked over, snagging the bottle from Raphael’s hands and taking a large gulp.

 

Raphael didn’t speak to her, or anyone else for the rest of the night.

 

Within the year, he was leading them all.

 

*

 

_ Leadership is a careful balance of inspiring loyalty and doing what you believe to be right. There are compromises to be made, there are things that you have to do to be a good leader that go against being a good man. _

 

_ When I had been the second in command, I had been able to separate those two. I had been able to be a good man and do what was right without the burden of leadership on my shoulders. But now I was leading Spanish Harlem, and I couldn’t afford to allow something personal to get in the way of something that could truly destroy my people. _

 

_ If that meant I had to focus on the well-being of all, rather than one, that is what I had to do. _

 

_ Isabelle Lightwood, however, has always been a good woman. She will always be a good woman. And she wouldn’t be distracted like I was. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so we're around a 1/4 of the way through, for those who are still reading, it'd be great if you can drop by the comments or send me an ask on tumblr (withbrokenbones). 
> 
> Are there any POVs or parts you find yourself skimming? Which scenes have you liked the best so far? Are there any characters that you think need to be expanded on more? Are there any inaccuracies or problematic areas you think I should address in future chapters? Just anything you think I should be working on or doing more of in general? Let me know ;D And thank you so much. We're almost 25% of the way there.


	6. The Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will not be Baby. Like “no one puts Baby in the corner”? When I finally get accepted to I get to do a funky dance and get a terrible eighties perm?” Simon asked, and did this weird thing with his hips that Raphael was pretty sure had never been a dancing style.
> 
> “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.
> 
> “Dirty Dancing?” Simon replied, looking hopeful. Raphael thought that sounded vaguely familiar but he had no idea why and he certainly didn’t care enough to find out.

_ There are moments that define you. They define who you are and what you are. Being turned into a vampire is one of those moments. Falling in love, that’s another one of those moments. But some moments creep up on you. _

 

_ One of my moments was to be while searching for Simon, one that I had never thought that my mindless search for a missing vampire would bring me, but one for which I would always be remembered _ .

 

*

 

“Everyone, meet our new fledgling. Simon, take a bow,” Raphael said, gesturing to Simon. Simon shuffled forward. The dim lights of the Hotel Dumort didn’t bother him anymore but he still seemed unsure of his footing. He looked at Raphael once more before turning back to the gathered vampires.

 

“Er, hi everyone. I’m Simon Lewis and, er, nice to meet you all officially I guess?” he said, his shoulders hunching up slightly as he gave a hesitant wave. Raphael had never seen a fledgling give a more lame introduction of themselves before.

 

He wasn’t sure if he felt affection or exasperation.

 

“He’s that mundane that’s been hanging round here. Did he finally ask you to turn him Raphael?” one of the vampires who had gathered called out, causing a few of them to laugh. Simon took a few steps back towards Raphael, who put his hand on Simon’s shoulder.

 

He forced his own guilt aside and tried to play along.

 

“I’m his sire but I didn’t turn him. Let’s call it an accident,” he said. Simon’s mouth formed the words ‘sire’ but he didn’t voice them. Clearly he’d realised what that strange new link in the back of his mind was.

 

“Whatever you say, Raphael,” Luis called, but he had a fond look on his face. Of them all, Luis was the youngest until Simon, and he had, perhaps, the kindest heart of them all.

 

“Well, now, the cute geeky one finally decides to become a Downworlder,” Camille, who had been sat idly by the fire, got to her feet. She slinked over, extending her hand for Simon to shake. A few vampires looked away, uncomfortable, as Camille took his hand. 

 

“H-hello Camille,” Simon said. Camille blinked, slowly, and Raphael knew what she was trying to ascertain. The subtle web that bound them all was tugging as she tried to see where Simon fit on it as their newest fledgling.

 

Raphael knew the bonds that were there already between him and Simon were too tough for her to break. Raphael had turned no others, had never wished to share his blood or his curse, and so the bond would be strong, pure. Camille seemed to realise it in that moment because her eyebrows crawled to her hairline and she let go of Simon’s hand.

 

“Oh I see that someone’s already staked a claim. Interesting,” she said. Raphael slung an arm around Simon’s shoulders.

 

“I’ll look after Simon,” he said firmly. Camille rolled her eyes.

 

“Well, I find training fledglings to be a bore anyway,” she admitted and turned around to slink back to her place by the fire.

 

The other vampires took that as their cue that the official meet and greet was over. Some hung around, watching Simon from the shadows, but one bounded forward. His name was Marco and he was half-Dominican, half-Chinese. He’d been turned shortly after the Civil Rights Act had been passed, from what Raphael could remember, and still clung to the spirit of the sixties and seventies. It was… rather odd.

 

“You gotta be hungry right? Luis, make one of those cinnamon blood things you do!” Marco shouted. Luis, who had been about to slink away, grinned.

 

“They are called Mulled Scarlet!” he yelled but he changed direction to move towards the refrigerators where they kept their blood ready for drinking. Raphael squeezed Simon’s shoulders, trying to reassure him that these people who had been dangerous predators that could have killed him merely twenty four hours ago, were now his family.

 

“Yeah, yeah, pretentious cocktail name for what is essentially just blood mixed with a bit of cinnamon powder to make it taste… not like blood. Newbies usually find it easier to stomach,” Marco was explaining. Raphael felt Simon relax into him a little and began to feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t… let Simon get attached like this.

 

“Thank you,” Simon offered, his voice no longer cracking from nerves.

 

“You’re more than welcome, fledge,” Marco said with a grin, before he gave Raphael a slightly worried look.

 

“Not to rain on the proceedings but wasn’t he close to the shadowhunters before he turned? Should we be worried?” Marco asked in a low voice. Simon could hear, of course, but Raphael knew that it wasn’t being kept quiet because of Simon’s feelings. Marco was trying not to spread panic amongst the vampires there.

 

“It’s taken care of. A shadowhunter made the call to bury him so he’d be turned,” Raphael said. Marco looked relieved.

 

“Clary?” Simon asked and Raphael couldn’t tell from his tone whether or not he was angry or just sad. Raphael didn’t want to deny or confirm who it had been, but Simon only glanced at his face and seemed to work it out. “I guess so huh…”

 

At that point, Luis walked back with a tray. On it was a normal glass of blood for Raphael, who realised he hadn’t eaten breakfast before he left, and one that looked… interesting, for Simon.

 

It was bubbling, so it had clearly been heated. And it was purple.

 

“Here. I put food colouring in it so you could pretend it was a milkshake,” Luis said, handing it to Simon and then putting an umbrella in the top. Simon looked at Raphael helplessly.

 

“It’s purple,” he said and Raphael picked up the ordinary scarlet one.

 

“So I’ll rename it Mulled Violet, just for you. Drink up. You’re going to be feeling this weird kind of hunger for a while. Kinda like a newborn baby,” Luis said and urged Simon to put the glass to his lips. Simon reluctantly did so and took a large swig, grimacing as he did so. 

 

“Ugh. That’s disgusting,” he protested, gagging. Raphael chuckled.

 

“Luis likes to play with his food, but he doesn’t have the most refined tastebuds. Here’s the plain type,” Raphael said and, even though he knew his tongue was going to hate him, swapped his own drink with Simon’s.

 

Simon looked down at the undiluted, unmessed-with blood in the glass and then sighed, drinking deeply.

 

“Not much better,” he said, wiping a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. His tongue was dyed a reddish-purple.

 

“ _ Dios mio _ , do you ever stop complaining?” Raphael asked, throwing the ‘Mulled Scarlet’ down his throat.

 

“I guess you’ve got eternity to find out,” Simon quipped back. Raphael coughed and shoved the empty glass of Luis’ concoction back onto the tray. Luis gave him a happy look.

 

“I should have thrown your body back in the Hudson,” Raphael retorted, blinking tears back from his eyes. God, some things Luis made were worse than straight tequila...

 

“Raphael…” Simon began and then trailed off. Sensing a Moment, capital M, Luis and Marco both disappeared into the shadows. Raphael saw Simon awkwardly adjusting the cup of blood in his grip, sipping from it as he thought.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t, okay?” Simon said and Raphael almost believed it.  _ Almost _ .

 

“Are you done with that?” he asked, gesturing to the glass. Simon looked down at the glass and then downed the rest before giving Raphael the glass.

 

He took it into the kitchen, giving it to Luis who gave him a meaningful look, before returning to the suite they held meetings in. He heard voices and recognised them immediately as Camille’s and Simon’s.

“Well, well, well. The shadowhunter’s pet becomes Raphael’s pet. It’s quite the turn of events isn’t it?” Camille was saying, her voice lazy. Raphael wanted nothing more than to rush in there and do something to interfere, but he found his legs weren’t working.

 

He wanted to hear what Simon had to say.

 

“I… guess so? Look, are you about to try the whole weird putting me down seduction routine because, well, I’m not really that interested in it,” Simon replied. Raphael saw, from his spot just outside the door, that Simon and Camille were stood a good six feet apart. When Camille tried to take a step forward, Simon immediately took a step back.

 

“Raphael should have just made you a subjugate if he wanted to keep you around,” Camille retorted. Simon rolled his eyes.

 

“Raphael should have got rid of  _ you _ years ago. Like, what do you have to win by putting me down? You aren’t going to damage mine and Raphael’s friendship by being sassy with me,” he said, his voice so full of irritation that Raphael realised Simon sounded like  _ him _ .

 

“Don’t forget who holds the power here,” Camille hissed. Simon looked at her and then he must have spotted Raphael at the door, because he looked directly at him and his lips quirked up in a smirk.

 

“I haven’t. Hence why I’m going to go and ask  _ Raphael _ where I should sleep,” he said. Raphael felt a tightness in his throat. He wasn’t sure why.

 

“You will never be part of this vampire clan,” Camille spat and Simon actually  _ laughed _ at her.

 

“Well, we’ll see what Raphael has to say about that, shall we?” he asked and without looking back, walked over to where Raphael was at the door. Camille saw him standing there and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. Raphael knew that it wouldn’t be the end of it, but that she’d given up for now.

 

“Holy shit, Camille is  _ mad _ ,” Simon said once Raphael had closed the door behind them. Raphael tried to dispel the weird mix of emotions that were running through his chest.

 

“I think she wanted to make you a subjugate of hers,” Raphael said, leading Simon through a labyrinth of hotel corridors and staircases that made up the Hotel Dumort. It was natural to him. He knew every creaking floorboard and uneven step, but Simon was much more distracted.

 

Raphael remembered that he was seeing everything for the first time.

 

“That is terrifying,” Simon said after a moment. Raphael realised he’d probably just started really considering what being a subjugate of Camille was like. He nodded and came to Room 421.

 

“This is your room,” Raphael said. Simon took hold of the doorknob and opened it. There were no keys in the Hotel Dumort. No one had been stupid enough to try to rob it in decades.

 

The room had been prepared quickly, with only a day in order to do so. It was enough time though, to furnish it somewhat lavishly. Raphael could already tell it wouldn’t be Simon’s style, but he’d be able to swap things out.

 

The walls were a deep crimson red. A mahogany desk had been set up underneath a portrait of what was quite possibly some kind of elf or Seelie creature of some kind. There was a couch laid along one wall and a rack that was clearly meant for Simon’s clothes.

 

Which reminded Raphael that he was going to have to break into Simon’s house again and steal back some of his things.

 

“I have to sleep in that box?” Simon asked and Raphael realised he’d seen the casket. He sighed.

 

“At first. It’s so you can’t get out and go on a rampage while you sleep. After the first few days we’ll just get you a bed like everyone else,” he said. “With memory foam if you want.”

 

Simon ran a hand along the top of the wooden casket, avoiding the crucifix on the top. Raphael didn’t want to be sentimental, but it was one that he had chosen himself.

 

“Is it likely I’m going to go on a rampage?” Simon asked, pausing to look at Raphael’s face as he answered.

 

“You nearly bit your best friend earlier. Anything is possible,” Raphael replied. Simon nodded and looked down at the casket again for a while. He opened and closed his mouth a few times while he formulated the words.

 

“Raphael… I know it’s stupid because… I won’t be able to see. I won’t know but…” Simon began and Raphael rolled his eyes to the heavens with a sigh.

 

“Spit it out, baby,” he chided. Simon’s eyes widened.

 

“B-baby? That  _ cannot _ be my nickname. No way, I refuse to answer to it,” he threw up his hands and walked around so he was on the same side as Raphael again. Raphael gave him an amused smile.

 

“What would you prefer?  _ El nino? _ Fledgling?” he asked. Simon groaned.

 

“Oh god, those are as bad as just calling me ‘noob’,” he protested. Raphael thought he’d misheard that word for a second.

 

“If I even knew what that meant, I’d start using it. It even sounds stupid,” he replied. Simon grinned at him, and Raphael’s heart felt lighter. There was still a chance, somewhere, that Simon was still there.

 

“I will  _ not _ be Baby. Like “no one puts Baby in the corner”? When I finally get accepted to I get to do a funky dance and get a terrible eighties perm?” Simon asked, and did this weird thing with his hips that Raphael was pretty sure had  _ never _ been a dancing style.

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.

 

“Dirty Dancing?” Simon replied, looking hopeful. Raphael thought that sounded vaguely familiar but he had no idea why and he certainly didn’t care enough to find out.

 

“I can’t even remember what your original question was anymore,” he admitted. Simon went still and the humor drained from him, replaced by resolve.

 

“I just wanted to ask you to stay, if it’s not too much trouble. Just… stay in this room with me while I sleep tonight. I don’t want to be alone,” he said finally. Raphael stared at him.

 

Why on Earth would Simon still want him around at all?

 

“You don’t have to! I mean, I’m sure you’re busy and you’ve got loads to do and I can just-” Simon began to babble, a trait that he hadn’t lost since becoming a vampire it seemed. Raphael held up a hand to silence him.

 

“Shut up and lie down,” he ordered. Simon looked at the casket and then swallowed audibly. He pushed open the lid and climbed in, shifting around until he was comfortable.

 

“Luis put an iPod in there. The music will help calm you if you feel claustrophobic before we open it up tomorrow night,” Raphael said quietly. Simon rummaged around until he found it and then he clutched it in his hand.

 

“I’m going to close the lid,” Raphael announced and began to close it. Simon’s hand reached out, snagging his sleeve. Raphael looked at it for a moment before he raised his eyes to look at Simon’s expression.

 

“Raphael… thank you,” Simon said. Raphael’s nails dragged along the wood of the casket, no doubt leaving marks.

 

“The lid won’t close unless you let go,” he said. Simon smiled, something sad but understanding in it, and let go.

 

“Alright… Goodnight…” he said. Raphael shook his head.

 

“Good morning, Simon,” he said. Simon laughed a little.

 

“Ah, yeah, it’s ‘good morning’ from now on huh?” he said and then the lid was closed. Raphael turned the key in the lock. He knew that Simon wouldn’t be able to hear anything from the outside while it was locked. He laid his hands on top of the casket, ignoring the way the cross burnt into his hand.

 

“I won’t let this be about power. I promise you I will not let your life be what mine is,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

 

It was going to be a long day.

 

*

 

“You look exhausted,” Jocelyn said and put a mug of coffee in his hands. Luke nodded, yawning.

 

“That’s because I am,” he confided. Jocelyn gave him a warm smile and felt his arm wrap around her shoulders.

 

“Any luck on finding Maia?” she asked. She had just woken up but Luke was on his thirty eighth hour without sleep. He could barely string together words, but he tried. She deserved to know what was going on, even if she could do little to help.

 

“Not really. We looked for Maia, we found something worse,” he said, sipping the hot coffee and relishing the burn down his throat. He was certain that he and Isabelle had been living off the stuff over the last few days, Isabelle perhaps more than himself. She was practically IVing the stuff.

 

“Can I help?” Jocelyn asked, because of course she did. Because for eighteen years, he’d asked that. Every time something had happened that left her shaken, worried, those had been the first words that left his lips. Now, it was her turn.

 

“There’s nothing you can do right now. I don’t want to make your situation worse than it is. How’s Clary?” he asked, changing the subject. He didn’t want to get Jocelyn into even more trouble than she was undoubtedly already in. 

 

“With a best friend missing and her brother-who-was-her-boyfriend with our long-term enemy? She goes between fits of extreme unhealthy focus to latent despondency at the drop of a hat. Without Alec there to balance her out, I don’t know what I’d have done,” Jocelyn said and she pulled her bathrobe tighter against her. Luke slung his spare arm around her waist.

 

“That’s a blossoming friendship I never thought I’d see,” he mused. Jocelyn gave him a small smile.

 

“I think Magnus is greasing the wheels a little. And well, they both are searching for the same brother so…” she shrugged. Luke pressed a kiss to her temple.

 

“How many times have you had to hold her back from helping Simon?” he asked. Jocelyn sighed, leaning into his arms like she belonged there.

 

“Well, that  _ was _ Alec’s job, right up until he ran off today with Magnus to play hero. Now we’re back to blackmail and bribes to keep her in the Institute,” she admitted with a hint of accusation. Luke wasn’t going to apologise. What Alec chose to do to protect his sister was his own business as far as Luke was concerned.

 

“Are you sure that there’s nothing she can do?” Luke asked. Jocelyn took a slurp of her own coffee.

 

“Me and her are being watched more closely than even Alec. It’s just not a good time to start going AWOL,” she said finally and Luke could see lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

 

“We could do with the help, Joce. Raphael and Isabelle have done a great job, but this would go much faster if we had more people working on it,” he said and he hated that he was asking this of her. Asking her to put her daughter on the line. Clary, however, was an asset. Another person who could work during daylight hours.

 

“You’re going to have to make do with the vampires and the werewolves. Broker a peace deal and work together,” Jocelyn said and Luke sensed not to push it. When it came to protecting her daughter, Jocelyn was far more fierce than any werewolf he’d ever met.

 

“Something tells me that won’t go down well with the vampires,” he said, but the idea wasn’t a terrible one. Raphael had not been terrible to work with, emotional outbursts aside.

 

“You don’t know unless you try. Don’t underestimate what someone is prepared to do to protect someone they love,” Jocelyn said, pulling away from his embrace and taking his coffee from his hands. He stood there, empty handed for a moment while she put the coffee mugs down, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck.

 

“A United Downworld. Surely the Clave would see it as a threat?” Luke asked. Jocelyn kissed his neck.

 

“Who says the Clave has to know? Make the deal. Inform them after,” she suggested. Luke could feel her smiling against his pulse.

 

“You were always the revolutionary,” he said, pride in his voice.

 

“Looking at Clary, it seems to run in the family,” she said. Luke couldn’t deny that one.

 

“Don’t give up, Luke. Maia and Simon both. I just want them safe again,” Jocelyn whispered and tugged him closer. He squeezed her close against him.

 

“I won’t, Joce, I promise.”

 

*

 

“There’s a werewolf at the door,” Luis said, looking a little nervous.

 

Raphael and Camille were sat in the lounge of the Hotel Dumort before its great mantelpiece. They had barely spoken, merely regarding each other silently. Raphael was waiting for her to make the first move, but he knew he would have to be patient for that.

 

“Then chase him off,” Camille said dismissively. Luis glanced at Raphael nervously.

 

“Who is it?” Raphael asked, getting to his feet. Camille’s eyes followed him up and she followed him, clearly not liking being lower.

 

“Er… Garroway,” Luis said, looking between them as though not sure who he should be listening to.

 

“Let him in,” Raphael ordered. Luis turned to go but then Camille’s eyes flashed.

 

“Don’t you dare!” she ordered. Luis looked between the two of them, his hands raised but Raphael was proud that he looked at him the longest. He knew he had won Luis’ loyalty at least.

 

“You aren’t the leader here anymore Camille. You’re our prisoner, just in slightly more favorable conditions,” Raphael reminded her and then nodded to Luis. “Open the door.”

 

Luke walked into the lounge looking tired, but better than he had the night before. He had obviously found time to sleep and rest. Raphael envied him. He had been up all day trying to get Camille to answer or promise to even the most basic of things.

 

“Raphael and… Miss Belcourt,” Luke greeted them both, bending to kiss Camille’s hand. She didn’t allow him to though, jerking her hand away.

 

“Oh spare me the formalities, wolf. You haven’t come here to see me,” she snarled. Luke looked at her for a moment, eyes flashing gold, before he shrugged.

 

“You aren’t wrong. Raphael, can we speak in private?” he asked. Raphael gave Camille a smug look before pointing to Luis.

 

“Watch her,” he ordered, before pulling Luke into one of the corridors that led to the ground level rooms.

 

“Did you get any information from her? Anything relevant?” Luke asked, keeping his voice low so that Camille wouldn’t be able to hear him.

 

“She doesn’t know anything about this,” Raphael said, sighing. It was one thing he believed her on. She genuinely had no idea what was going on.

 

“Then why is she still out of the box?” Luke demanded. Raphael bared his teeth. He wouldn’t be questioned by some goddamn werewolf about how he did things. It was bad enough when Magnus did it. At least they were friends.

 

“Because I need someone who knows how to lead people here, looking out for the vampires,” Raphael explained, his voice condescending. Luke gave him a long look that said, quite clearly, that he didn’t trust Camille at all, or Raphael’s judgment of her.

 

“You think Camille can help herself?” he asked. Raphael rolled his eyes.

 

“I think she has enough sense of self-preservation and loyalty to her own kind to do some good here. Plus, she’s qualified,” he replied. Luke leaned against the wall, biting on his lower lip as he thought.

 

“What does Magnus think about this?” he asked. Raphael had nearly had it with all these people questioning his decisions.

 

“Who cares? He’s not leading the vampires,” he retorted. Luke raised his eyebrows at that but then he shrugged and straightened up.

 

“Right. Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss Camille,” he said. There was something formal about the way he stood, something that suggested that this was all business.

 

“You have a lead?” Raphael asked. He hoped they did because he had come up against a dead end where he was.

 

“Not exactly. I’m here to propose an alliance between the werewolves and the vampires,” Luke said. Raphael laughed, but then he realised Luke wasn’t laughing with him. It wasn’t a joke. Luke was  _ really _ suggesting it. Of his own free will, not coerced by shadowhunters.

 

“Didn’t work out so well last time we tried it,” Raphael reminded him, thinking of Meliorn and the high tensions that had run between the two groups.

 

“We have to assume that right now we have a common enemy. We can cover twice the ground if we’re all working together and watching out for each other,” Luke pointed out. Raphael took a step back.

 

On the walls of the corridor were portraits of vampires, some of them hundreds of years old. He felt like their stares were weighing him.

 

“It’s going to spook the shadowhunters and probably the Seelies too,” he stalled. Luke nodded.

 

“So we keep it on the down low. Nothing official. A gentleman’s agreement,” he suggested.

 

Raphael turned. A gentleman’s agreement? An agreement bound in honor and trust that the other would do as they said? 

 

“I can’t guarantee that our clan will back it,” he warned, but he could already sense how this would go. He already knew, in a way, that he was going to back an alliance with werewolves.

 

He had to. He had to get Simon back.

 

“They will. They listen to you Raphael. You have power here, if you use it well,” Luke urged. Raphael finally held out his hand for Luke to shake.

 

“I’ll discuss it with them and see what we can agree to,” he said. Luke took his hand, warm to the point of almost being hot against Raphael’s cold skin.

 

“Let’s get them home, Raphael.”

 

*

 

“Why are we sat around here? Shouldn’t we be out looking for Simon?”

 

“Did you find a body? Was that what that werewolf was here about?”

 

“Why is Camille here?”

 

“Quiet,” Raphael cut through the chatter with a simple word. Everyone was silent.

 

The Hotel Dumort’s ballroom was a somber place. Only a few things were ever held there. Remembrance services, for their brethren that died, and official votes. Camille hadn’t called one in decades, it wasn’t really her style, and so the last thing that many associated with this place was death.

 

Real death.

 

The kind you didn’t come back from.

 

“I come before all of you with a proposal spurred on by recent events. As you know, one of our own, our newest, Simon, went missing less than a week ago. You may not be aware that he is not the only Downworlder who has gone missing this way,” Raphael began. Immediately a vampire called Elliot leapt to his feet.

 

“You’re talking about the werewolf girl, aren’t you? I heard about it down at Taki’s earlier,” he said excitedly. Raphael nodded to him. He walked forward so he was in the center of the ballroom floor, making sure to look every single one of them in the eye as he passed them.

 

“You’re right, I am. Maia Roberts was snatched from her home while investigating Simon’s disappearance,” he confirmed. Again, excitable chatter interrupted him.

 

“What was she doing investigating it in the first place?”

 

“Are you sure she wasn’t just covering her tracks? Maybe she was involved in Simon’s disappearance too?”

 

“We found the person responsible,” Raphael said, having to raise his voice only slightly to draw silence again. “A fresh vampire fledgling called Maureen Brown. She was not a part of our clan, she was a rogue, acting alone. When cornered she referred to a ‘they’, some kind of organisation that experimented on her and turned her. I believe this organisation is a potential threat to all the Downworlders of New York City.”

 

This time he allowed the chatter to go on, his gaze fixing on Camille. She was regarding him with a look of calculation, like she was trying to formulate a plan but she wasn’t sure which way the crowd was blowing yet.

 

“So get the shadowhunters involved!”

 

“They’re too busy with their own stupid civil war to bother with the likes of us!”

 

“Is this fear-mongering meant to achieve something Raphael?” she finally asked. Raphael had been waiting for her attack. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk.

 

“I haven’t finished yet. Before a shadowhunter finished Maureen, she changed. She wasn’t vampire or human, but something else. Something I’ve never seen before. It grew out of her wounds like… coral would be a good way to describe it. I think it’s a disease, and I think whatever organisation she was working for were responsible for it,” he said. Camille seemed to realise her misstep. She hadn’t waited for all the information before she struck and the information he had revealed meant that a general sense of panic had filled the room. She wouldn’t be heard in the din.

 

“How do we know if we’re infected?”

 

“How does that link to Simon? Was he diseased? Are you?”

 

Raphael held up his hands. The panic died down a little.

 

“I have told you everything I know about it. Trust me, I’m trying to find out the answers as quickly as I can,” he promised. This time there was just silence until finally Marco spoke up.

 

“So that’s why Camille is out, isn’t it?” he asked, giving Camille a quizzical look.

 

“Yes. I need someone to be able to hold down the Hotel Dumort and keep things stable here while this matter is thoroughly investigated. I won’t ask any of you to put yourselves in danger to find Simon, though I will welcome volunteers,” Raphael said. A good proportion of the vampires put their hands up, volunteering their services and Raphael nodded to each of them in turn, acknowledging each of them.

 

“There’s more, isn’t there? There always is. What is this meeting  _ really _ about Raphael?” Camille asked. 

 

Raphael didn’t look at her. Instead he looked around the room, memorizing the faces of everyone there.

 

“I want to propose an informal alliance with the werewolves,” he said.

 

The room erupted and for the first time Raphael thought he might have misstepped. One vampire stood up and stormed out, only to be dragged back in a moment later by another friend. Previously sympathetic faces had either scrunched in confusion or transformed into distaste. Raphael let them get it out of their system for a moment longer.

 

“Quiet! Quiet! Listen!” he ordered. It took time, but eventually they quieted.

 

“The werewolf and Simon’s disappearance are clearly linked. The New York pack would almost double our numbers for people out on the ground. They have access to mundane police operations and the mundane world. They can keep our search going during daylight. It removes the limitations placed on us by our own condition,” Raphael said, gesturing to the boarded up windows.

 

“The shadowhunters will not like this. They rely on us being divided,” Marco said. Raphael nodded.

 

“Another reason for us to go ahead with it. Besides, we will have the Lightwood’s support. The Fairchild’s too,” Raphael said. Marco didn’t look convinced.

 

“Two families that when the war is over, will be treated like they are the disgrace of all shadowhunters everywhere. The Nephilim always maintain their status quo of oppression in the end,” he warned. Raphael couldn’t do anything to alleviate that fear. What would come would come.

 

“We either do this, or we continue as we are, always one step behind,” he challenged.

 

One vampire suddenly broke away from the others, getting to his feet and walking a little way into the center. Raphael met Luis eyes.

 

He knew it was the moment of truth. If he hadn’t managed to convince even Simon’s closest friend within the hotel, he would not convince any of them.

 

“Will this help us find Simon?” Luis asked. Raphael made sure he didn’t so much as blink.

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

“Then I vote yes to this union. He’s one of us. If we did anything less than our utmost to get him back, we could not be proud to call ourselves vampires of the Hotel Dumort,” Luis said. A ripple went through the seated vampires as they started to mutter between themselves what they were and weren’t prepared to do.

 

Camille, however, sensing that she was losing the room, strode into the center of the floor, standing toe to toe with Raphael and ignoring Luis completely.

 

“Oh, excuse me for interrupting the hug box but Raphael has failed to address how precarious this situation could become. We put ourselves in the firing line of whatever malicious mystery box organisation took Simon, and the shadowhunters. Not only that, we can’t trust that the werewolves won’t betray us at the drop of a hat. We’ve lost a fledgling, it’s sad, it happens. Now we protect our own and move on,” Camille said and she didn’t take her eyes off Raphael as she said it. Raphael resisted the urge to attack her.

 

How dare she even suggest that one vampire wasn’t as important as all of them?

 

“It is a valid viewpoint,” Marco said and Raphael saw him shrug in the corner of his eyes.

 

“Is this a leadership contest?” Luis snapped back and Raphael saw Marco get to his feet.

 

“A vote for Camille or Raphael?” Marco suggested. The surrounding vampires were looking at each other, suddenly realising the very precarious positions they could find themselves in. Raphael wondered where the factions would fall.

 

“A vote for self-preservation or doing what’s right!”

 

“You don’t get to speak for all of us!”

 

“We haven’t had this kind of trouble since the 70s!”

 

“We need time to decide something as important as this, Raphael!”

 

“There is no time. You will vote, and you will vote now,” Raphael interrupted them all. Camille looked satisfied, and she turned away, slinking back to her seat. She had forced him into a vote on more than just a treaty with the werewolves it seemed.

 

He nodded to Luis, who took a deep breath and took his place in the center of the room.

 

“We will now vote based on the policies put forward by Raphael and Camille and choose our new leader according. All those who believe in Raphael, raise your hands now.”

 

*

 

“Stop fiddling with everything. You look fine,” Simon scolded and pulled Raphael’s hands away from his cufflinks. Raphael resisted the urge to snarl.

 

They were stood on the door to Simon’s family home and it was far from how Raphael wanted to spend his night. He had imagined perhaps a glass or two of blood while he wrote a few letters and maybe read a book or two.

 

Not a whole meet the parents teen movie moment.

 

“I am not fiddling,” he protested but Simon didn’t let go of his hands.

 

“You are. Look, my mother is going to be fine with it. She’s honestly not going to care that I’m dating a guy,” he said. Raphael wasn’t so sure about that. The last time he’d met Simon’s mother had been when he’d come round one night to pick up Simon’s clothes. He’d had to get Simon to call her to let her know that Raphael hadn’t come to rob the place and that he was moving out. It had been awkward to say the least and Raphael had the distinct impression that she didn’t like him so much.

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he admitted. Simon either didn’t hear him or didn’t care, because he just threaded their fingers together and rang the doorbell.

 

A few seconds later the door burst open and Simon’s mother smiled brightly.

 

“Simon! Come in!” she said and then she saw Raphael was there. It was like someone putting a lampshade over a spare light bulb. Raphael could tell this wasn’t going to go the way Simon wanted it to. “And Raphael! What a pleasant surprise!”

 

She stepped aside to let them in. Raphael took off his coat, hanging it up on the coat rack. He could feel Mrs Lewis’ eyes on the back of his neck.

 

“I’ve almost finished cooking. I made your favorites. There should be enough for everyone. Just means you won’t be able to have seconds,” she said, giving Simon a hug. Raphael glanced out of the corner of his eye, checking that Simon was able to keep his impulses in check. It seemed he was fine though, because he pulled back with a wide smile.

 

“Smells great Mom,” he lied and Raphael wondered how much they were both going to vomit later from his mom’s overfeeding.

 

“Oh great,  _ you’re _ back,” A girl a few years Simon’s senior was walking down the stairs. She paused half way down, her eyes fixed on Raphael. “Who is  _ he?” _

 

Raphael wasn’t sure if that was a good way to be greeted or not, so he kept silent. Simon was just smiling easily though. It must have been normal for his sister to act this way.

 

“Raphael Santiago, my roommate,” he said easily. Raphael didn’t feel comfortable with how easily that lie rolled off Simon’s tongue now.

 

“Would you like a drink? I have freshly brewed coffee or some fruit juices… Or a beer?” Mrs Lewis offered, giving Raphael a certain look that said she couldn’t quite tell how old he was. Raphael followed her into the kitchen, Simon and his sister trailing behind chatting about brother and sister things.

 

“A beer would be great Mrs Lewis,” he accepted, mostly because people tended not to notice if you didn’t drink too much out of a bottle compared to a glass.

 

“Me too!” Simon piped up, but his mother just gave him a stern look.

 

“Not on your life, Simon. You’re having juice like your sister,” she said. Raphael turned, smirking at Simon and ruffling his hair.

 

“See, this is why I call you ‘baby’,” he teased, quiet enough that Mrs Lewis didn’t hear. Simon swatted at his hand, going slightly pink. His sister’s mouth was making an ‘oh’ shape.

 

“I think I get who he is now,” she said, then giggled.

 

“W-well, let’s sit down for a little while and catch up. Simon, how have classes been?” Mrs Lewis said, handing Raphael a beer before setting two glasses of juice and a glass of wine down on the table. Raphael took a seat next to Simon and as far away from Simon’s mother as possible.

 

Simon looked like he wished he’d stayed standing.

 

“Actually, I, er, quit school,” he admitted. Raphael had seen many parent’s rage of the years, but nothing quite prepared him for what he was about to see.

 

“WHAT?!” she yelled. Simon shrunk down in his seat a little.

 

“Oh my god, this is going to be hilarious. I need to film this,” Simon’s sister said, getting out her phone. Raphael was pretty sure she was called Rebecca.

 

“I’m working for Raphael now in… security,” Simon said and Raphael wished Simon had thought of a more convincing lie because that one had been absolutely terrible. His mother looked like she was about to explode.

 

“Security? You quit school and started work in security?!” she demanded.

 

“W-well…” Simon stammered and it was a mistake because that meant she had time to build up steam.

 

“I  _ knew _ you were trouble! Security? Don’t you mean protection money?” she asked, and her eyes slid over to Raphael.

 

He knew what she was implying. She’d thought he was trouble all along, but he’d never expected her to say it in front of Simon.

 

“Mom, that’s not fair! Raphael has nothing-” Simon began but Raphael couldn’t hold back his anger at her.

 

“That’s right. Simon is working for the cartels,” he lied. Simon went pale.

 

“Oh my god,” Rebecca said gleefully while at the same time Simon wailed, “Raphael!”

 

“If your intention was to make the other piece of news seem less controversial, you might have succeeded,” Raphael pointed out. Simon put his head in his hands.

 

“What news?” his mother asked in a waspish voice.

 

Simon took a deep breath and looked up, managing to at least look in the direction of his mother’s face long enough to say what he had come there to say.

 

“Um… Raphael isn’t just my employer, he’s also my boyfriend?”

 

It sounded like a question.

 

Raphael could not believe that this had gone so terribly.

 

It was like some farcical play.

 

“This is going to get so many hits on Youtube!” Rebecca said gleefully. Raphael reached out and extricated the phone from her grasp. He didn’t waste a moment before snapping it cleanly in half against the edge of the table. “Hey!”

 

“It seems like you’ve lost the ability to connect to the internet,” Raphael said, throwing the two broken bits of phone back at her across the table.

 

If anyone wondered how he had the strength to do it, they didn’t question it.

 

“Oh and just who is going to replace that?” Simon’s mother asked. Raphael shrugged.

 

“I’ll transfer the money tomorrow if you want,” he said and withdrew his wallet in order to get out his card but Mrs Lewis slammed her hand down onto the table.

 

“I don’t want your money! I don’t know what life you lead but you have  _ ruined _ my son,” she screamed.

 

It seemed in that moment that Rebecca had ceased to find it funny because her smile was fading. She was looking at her mom as though there was a joke she wasn’t getting.

 

“Mom, that’s a little unfair. Simon being gay isn’t the end of the world-” she began and Simon put his hand up as though speaking in class.

 

“Pansexual actually,” he corrected.

 

“Not helping the situation, Simon,” Raphael reminded him, reaching up to take Simon’s hand and pulling it into his lap. Mrs Lewis watched it with a look of distaste.

 

Raphael realised he honestly wasn’t affected by any of her statements. The only thing he was worried about was Simon.

 

“This isn’t about being gay or straight. This is about how you were raised. You were raised to be someone, Simon. You were raised to go to a good college, to find a good partner, to make me proud. Instead you’re running around with this Mexican-” Mrs Lewis ranted but Simon stood up, his chair toppling over behind him.

 

“Are you really going to pull out racism right now? We’re a minority too!” Simon yelled. Raphael squeezed his hand, trying to signal that it was  _ alright _ damnit. Raphael was old enough to let it go. Simon however just gripped his hand so tightly in return that his bones creaked.

 

“It’s not that he’s Latino! It’s that he’s dangerous! You’ve thrown away your future on some… whatever it is that he does. I can tell in the way he moves, the way he holds himself-” Mrs Lewis continued and Raphael had heard it all before.

 

The thing was, she wasn’t  _ wrong _ .

 

“In how far apart his eyes are?” Simon snapped.

 

“You’ve changed ever since he came into your life!” Mrs Lewis shrieked in a last ditch attempt to get through to her son but Simon tugged on Raphael’s hand.

 

“Raphael, we’re leaving,” he said. Raphael let himself be dragged to his feet.

 

“I guess I don’t have to drink the beer then at least,” he muttered as he was pulled towards the door.

 

“Simon, don’t you dare leave this house-” Mrs Lewis was shouting after them but Simon slammed the front door on her, cutting her off.

 

He stormed a little way down the street before he dropped Raphael’s hand and ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth.

 

“What the fuck. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck,” he repeated to himself and Raphael could tell he was at the point of hysterics. He took a few steps forward and put his hands on Simon’s shoulders.

 

“Simon, calm down, it’s alright,” he said. Simon looked close to tears and Raphael hoped there were no mundanes watching them. Seeing someone crying blood would probably have the CDC on them faster than they could evacuate the area.

 

“No! No it’s not alright!” Simon was saying and he sniffled.

 

“Look, we’ve both lied to her a lot over the last few months. It’s understandable she’s suspicious of me,” Raphael pointed out, rubbing his hands along Simon’s shoulders and trying to get him to calm down.

 

“No. That was racism. If you’d been a white guy she would have assumed all the lies and everything was just us trying to hide our puppy love. Instead she thinks I’m being manipulated by some kind of drug runner!” Simon said and broke away from Raphael to kick the curb.

 

“Kind of used to people assuming that. Especially when they see I wear a rolex,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“Not funny Raphael,” Simon said, glaring at him. At least he didn’t look still about to cry.

 

“Alright, alright. It’s the end of the world. Your mother will never forgive you. You will be angry at each other until the end of her days where you won’t attend her funeral. Sound better?” Raphael tried, putting his hands in his pockets and watching Simon work out all his frustration on the curb.

 

“I just… I wanted her to meet you. I wanted her to talk to you and see… see that I was happy,” he said and he sounded so broken. Raphael resisted the urge to reach out again. Simon was too restless to pin down right now.

 

“I’m sorry, Simon, really I am,” he offered instead.

 

“Hey, guys?”

 

Raphael turned to see Simon’s sister stood there awkwardly. She gave Raphael an awkward smile.

 

“Look, I just wanted you to know… Mom’s completely out of line. I know that she’s got it into her head that you’re dangerous Raphael but… Simon, I want you to know that you’ll always be my brother, okay? And I guess by extension, that means you’re my little brother too, Raphael,” she said. Raphael raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’m older than you,” he pointed out, though she had no idea by how much.

 

“You gotta be less mature though if you’re prepared to date my nerd of a brother,” she said with a wry smile. Raphael threw his head back and laughed.

 

“Oh god, he’s  _ so  _ nerdy. What even  _ is  _ a Warcraft? Why is there a movie? I don’t know, but apparently I’m booking tickets for the preview,” Raphael said, ignoring Simon’s indignant noise. He did know what Warcraft was, kind of, but only because he’d watched Simon playing it for hours while he did other things.

 

“I know, right? He’s a complete dork… but thank you for coming with him to do that. You could have run away, but you didn’t. You have my support,” Rebecca said, holding out her hand. Raphael took it.

 

If she found his hand cold, she didn’t comment on it.

 

*

 

“What was decided?” Luke asked when Raphael exited the ballroom.

 

Raphael grinned.

 

“Put on your best clothes and meet me at Simon’s burial site. We’ve got a union to seal.”

 

*

 

Raphael looked at those gathered. Werewolves and vampires shifted awkwardly next to each other. There had been obvious opposition in both camps, but Raphael could see that in some eyes there was a curiosity that perhaps could bloom into a friendship some day.

 

Or they’d try to eat each other. Whatever came first.

 

“Like all alliances built to last, this one will be sealed in blood,” he announced, cutting his own palm and letting his blood fall down onto Simon’s grave.

 

It had been agreed that this would be the place where everything would be sealed. A reminder that this was about more than just them getting along. Lives were at stake.

 

“Raphael, look out!”

 

Raphael turned in time to see dozens of figures, their faces covered in dark hoodies coming out of the darkness. He felt himself shoved to the ground, Luke having pushed him over as a silver rope swung out above their heads.

 

They both rolled to their feet before nodding to each other. Luke transformed, jumping towards one of the figures who was attacking a nearby vampire. Raphael turned his attention to the one with the silver rope.

 

He circled him and he could hear the sounds of battle behind him.

 

“What on earth?”

 

“Shadowhunters?!”

 

“It’s the Circle!”

 

“They don’t have seraph blades!”

 

“Band together! Band together!”

 

The final cry got Raphael’s attention as he continued to back away from the figure carrying a rope. He could see the creature’s hands. The rope was burning it.

 

It was a Downworlder.

 

Once they were all together though, the figures held back. They circled for a moment then, all as one, they looked to the West. Raphael barely had time to register where they looked before they were gone.

 

“Why did they retreat?” Luis asked and Raphael realised the vampire was behind him, looking shaken. Raphael shook his head.

 

“Do a head count,” he ordered. Luis nodded and started trying to gather the vampires together.

 

“Raphael what happened? Who were they?” Luke asked, pushing through a crowd of vampires to get to him. Raphael’s mouth was a thin line.

 

“I think we found out who Maureen was talking about,” he said. Luke rubbed at his face, surveying the scene as though expecting them to have written a note on the ground announcing their names and dates of birth.

 

“Two werewolves dead, three vampires,” Luis reported in. Raphael noted that Luis, in the spirit of their new union, had taken count of the werewolves too.

 

“Who?” Raphael asked.

 

“Damien, Marco and Kevin,” Luis said, his mouth turning down. Raphael swallowed. Marco may have stood against him in the vote, but he hadn’t deserved death. He’d been dragged into the fight unwillingly.

 

“We’ll hold a service for them back at the Hotel Dumort,” Raphael said with a heavy sigh. He was tired of having to do those services.

 

“If possible, we want to hold a service for our dead alongside.  The vampires and werewolves upheld their pledges here. They should be honored in death together,” Luke said. Raphael regarded him carefully and then nodded slowly. 

 

“I’ll make arrangements,” Luis said and then, to Raphael’s surprise, he patted a werewolf on the shoulder and started talking to him in a low voice.

 

“Raphael, we only managed to kill one of those bastards,” Luke said, gesturing to a hooded figure that was strewn around five feet from Simon’s grave.

 

“Take the body. We’ll get Lightwood to look at it later,” he said. Luke nodded and sent two werewolves to go get it.

 

“Jesus, fuck! What is this?”

 

Raphael glanced up to see that the hood had fallen away from the creature’s face to reveal spiky ridges had erupted from it’s mouth and eyes, sharp enough to be razor blades. Where they’d dropped it, one spine had broken away.

 

“Transport it  _ carefully _ ,” he called. The werewolves didn’t look like they wanted to touch it again. Raphael rolled his eyes but then a handful of vampires walked forward.

 

“We’ll help,” they said, crouching down. The werewolves, not wanting to be outdone by vampires, also grabbed hold of one of the limbs, heaving the corpse slowly off the ground.

 

“Maybe this will work?” Luke muttered. Raphael shrugged.

 

“Yeah, maybe we won’t kill each other.”

 

*

 

_ With the wolves on our side, we were able to cover much more ground. The werewolves were able to work during the day, and they found clues for us. Good leads, strong ones, ones that only a werewolf nose could have hunted down. _

 

_ But in my mind it was getting more and more clear that we might not be looking for a missing person anymore. _

 

_ We might be looking for a body _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Timeline so far for those that want to see it.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/18_VXNtleIoyQZXUEB8exp2EzqwDiHsCbqDqsc5Pi_qo/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> Again as this update is fairly quick: Are there any POVs or parts you find yourself skimming? Which scenes have you liked the best so far? Are there any characters that you think need to be expanded on more? Are there any inaccuracies or problematic areas you think I should address in future chapters? Just anything you think I should be working on or doing more of in general? Let me know ;D


	7. El Barrio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running his hands down Simon’s chest felt like Confession. Raphael had never thought that physical contact could bring him anything except a vague sense of shame in himself and more guilt, but Simon’s gasps and pleas to a higher power that couldn’t hear him sounded more like forgiveness to Raphael’s ears than any Hail Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, check the updated tags! A character's behavior in this chapter contains gaslighting and a definite sense of implied dub-con. There is the first NSFW sex scene in this chapter and considerable violence at one point. It also contains a _lot_ of Catholic references, more so than any other chapter. If any of these things are not your cup of tea, you can turn away now and [read the timeline](https://docs.google.com/document/d/18_VXNtleIoyQZXUEB8exp2EzqwDiHsCbqDqsc5Pi_qo/edit?usp=sharing) instead in order to find out what happened in this chapter.
> 
> This chapter is over 10,000 words long, hence why the edit took so long. Apologies for the wait.

_It doesn't take much to become a monster. I know that. I know that there are people who will never see me as anything except something repulsive, to be fought against and rejected. Yet I had met true monsters, people who did not deserve to live._

 

_I had never expected to have to delve into the mundane world once more to find Simon, but Luke's evidence meant that I had to face a demon from my own past that left me reeling and my relationship with Isabelle more splintered and tenuous than ever._

 

*

 

Sunrise had little effect over the inside of the Hotel Dumort, whose windows were boarded to prevent even the smallest rays. The ballroom of the Hotel Dumort was lit only by candlelight. Chairs had been laid out in rows facing the stage, where portraits and photographs of those who had died had been propped up. Lilies, candles and small personal effects had been placed around each one. They were placed in a tray made of steel and packed with wet sand.

 

Tradition dictated that no messages would be left for the dead.

 

“How do these services usually go?” Luke asked. The werewolves had taken up one side of the room, whispering quietly amongst themselves. The vampires, on the other hand, were completely silent.

 

“You’ll see,” Raphael said and gestured for Luke to take a seat at the front row. He walked to the front and he saw, as one, all the vampires focus on him. The werewolves took more time but eventually they fell silent.

 

Raphael closed his eyes and called deep into the powers within him. The web that held the vampires together. He felt his connection with each of them like spider silk. A few of the connections were dangling, useless, their anchors cut.

 

He opened his eyes once he was certain he had grasped those loose bonds and turned to the photos on the stage.

 

A large church candle had been laid out for him to use, and he picked it up. The wax ran down the sides, burning his skin, but he paid it no mind. The pain was a welcome distraction from the deadened, weightless bonds that he knew he was going to have to cut free.

 

He stood before the first photograph. Damien. A seventy year old vampire who had been turned during the Second World War. He had no surviving relatives, no bonds left to the mundane world. His family had been entirely made up of vampires of the Hotel Dumort.

 

Raphael lifted the candle and held it to the photograph of Damien. The flame caught at the edges and began to curl inwards.

 

He moved on. Kevin. A vampire Raphael had barely known. An unobtrusive vampire, non controversial. He had been a good friend to Elliot and still visited his ailing great-grandmother on occasion. The flames curled around his picture as well.

 

The final portrait had more offerings around it. Marco had been well-liked. Friendly to newbies, helpful to the administration, intelligent enough to make a dent for himself in the politics of vampires. Although there were no messages, Raphael could feel the surge of loss with the vampires around him.

 

He held the candle against the portrait, watching as the flames blackened the canvas before starting to devour it.

 

He’d reached the werewolves’ photographs now. He turned to Luke and the werewolf nodded. He had acknowledged, they could bury their dead, hold funerals for them that vampires could never hold for their own. For this particular service, the vampire way would rule.

 

Still, Raphael checked. He could see some tears shining in the eyes of the werewolves around Luke, but their leader kept his chin up. Raphael lowered the candle to the final two portraits.

 

He walked back and put the candle down, clasping his hands in front of himself and waiting. Only once the flames had completely died down from all portraits would the ceremony be over.

 

The room was filled with smoke, but vampires didn’t need to breathe. Some werewolves started to cough, but quietly, before covering their mouths with handkerchiefs and their sleeves to help maintain the somber air to the affair.

 

Finally, it was down to embers. The final flame went out.

 

Raphael nodded to the vampires and cut off the fluttering bonds of their dead kinsmen. The web between them snapped tight, and then relaxed again.

 

Knowing it was done, the vampires began to walk out of the room. The werewolves, coughing and blinking, soon followed them.

 

Raphael gestured with his head for Luke to walk with him and they took the old service exit out of the room. The preparation room for the kitchen was not filled with smoke and Luke could blink the tears out of his eyes.

 

“That was… something else,” Luke said, and Raphael couldn’t tell if he approved or disapproved.

 

“There is nothing to be said. We all know they haven’t gone to a better place. There is no comfort in death,” Raphael replied. Luke’s gaze fell to the floor. He gave Raphael’s shoulder a squeeze.

 

“From dust, to dust, to dust,” he said, as though quoting something. Raphael had no idea what it was but he guessed the words held comfort to Luke.

 

They held no such comfort to him.

 

*

 

“We have a lead,” Luke announced, throwing documents onto the countertop. Raphael had set aside a room that had once been the Hotel’s bar as a space that the werewolves could come and go freely from. The vampires had been skittish about the idea at first, especially as one slightly ajar door could injure or kill them, but they had reluctantly agreed.

 

If they were going to work together they needed a space and the Jade Wolf was just too small to realistically be a base of operations.

 

It was currently lit with low, red shaded lamps. Dusty bottles of alcohol lined the shelves and many of the tables were still under dust sheets from where they’d been put away when the hotel foreclosed and never been retrieved.

 

“You said that Simon was part of a drugs trial, and so I started digging around,” Luke said, starting to spread the documents out. Raphael took a chair at the bar. Isabelle, who had just arrived and been brought up to speed with the arrangements, walked around the bar so she could see clearly.

 

“The chances of recruiting through a genuine mundane pharmaceutical company is pretty thin. Downworlders are just not going to bite. But, we both know that there are some other choice ways to get drugs into Downworlder’s systems,” Luke explained. Raphael ignored the terrible pun and instead scanned over Luke’s notes.

 

“Illegally spiked blood would get vampires,” Raphael said as she lifted up a piece of paper that listed all the pharmaceuticals companies in New York. Even in tiny print it ran off the page.

 

“Exactly. If you can get Downworlders addicted to mundane drugs, they are going to need to try mundane treatments. It’s not like we have comprehensive healthcare for addiction issues,” Luke pointed out. Raphael nodded, thinking back to all those years ago and the terrible mess that the influx of cheap cocaine had on the vampires of the Hotel Dumort.

 

“So that’s how they got them?” he asked. Luke glanced at Isabelle and Raphael realised they must have been in communication during the day when he had been stuck at the hotel.

 

“We did find trace amounts of _meth_ in that werewolf’s system,” she said. Raphael wasn’t exactly down with the kids, but he knew what meth was. He’d seen the posters, the slogans, but never really paid it any mind. What could a mundane drug do to him in any case?

 

He had never thought about how it might affect his people.

 

He realised there were some things that he was going to have to get better at.

 

“Synthetic drugs affect vampires if ingested,” Isabelle continued, looking at Luke as he spoke. Luke seemed to be quite prepared to accept her word on it.

 

“So our theory is what? They get them addicted to meth through spiked blood or contaminated food then sell them a cure that makes them into… whatever it is that is?” Raphael asked. Isabelle was shuffling through the papers and didn’t meet his eyes. It seemed she was looking for something amidst the print outs.

 

“Or that the meth itself does it. I haven’t got access to the Institute’s laboratory to do a full lab. We had maybe thirty minutes in the NYPD labs before we had to quickly vacate,” she said, giving Luke a nod of thanks. Raphael wished, more than ever, that the Nephilim had heard of the Civil Rights Movement and actually updated their policies to helping _all_ Downworlders.

 

“It wouldn’t explain Simon or Maia, or even Maureen. None of them were drug users, even before they turned,” Luke said though, pushing a toxicology report towards Raphael so he could read it. He barely knew what he was looking it. The words and chemical equations were far too specialised for a layman, and he hadn’t even finished high school science, nevermind studied it through to the level he’d have needed to understand what it said.

 

“We don’t know the motives of these people. We don’t even know why certain people were selected and others not,” Isabelle replied. She’d finally spread the papers out widely so that she could see them all, her eyes darting between pages as though she were trying to work something out.

 

“For now the only lead we can follow is the one that leads us to whoever is selling meth in the area. If nothing else, they may recognise our werewolf John Doe,” Luke said, throwing up his hands.

 

“Harlem is becoming gentrified. It’s more likely they’re going out into Hell’s Kitchen or further to get that stuff,” Raphael suggested, sliding a map into the middle of them all and tapping in the area most likely. Isabelle seemed to accept it but Luke shook his head.

 

“No. From what we can gather, there is one group in Spanish Harlem that moved from cocaine deals to meth rather suddenly within the last year. They claim that the DEA were cracking down on their smuggling operations, but it’s interestingly timed,” he said, leaning over the map and running his finger down one specific street.

 

“So you’re saying it’s Latino people?” Raphael asked, keeping his tone light. Luke seemed to realise he was treading on some dodgy ground.

 

“Well, I won’t name a specific group and it could just as easily be a gang out in the Bronx, but first we should check the group that operate around _El Barrio_. They’re close and they’re dangerous,” he warned. Raphael leaned back in his chair.

 

Even if Luke was wrong, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure that their neighborhood was free from any mundanes selling substances to the Downworlders.

 

“How much more dangerous can they be than a group of vampires, werewolves and a shadowhunter?” Isabelle asked, her eyes dancing.

 

“Arrogance like that will get you killed,” Raphael warned her.

 

“Indeed. They’re led by a _Santero_ ,” Luke replied.

 

Raphael felt suddenly cold. He knew exactly who Luke meant and he would have rather chopped off his own arms and legs and seen if they grew back than deal with them.

 

“I know who you mean. He’s aware of our existence, though he’s never tracked us here. He’d be able to tell we were from the Shadow World just by looking at us,” he said, a sinking resignation sliding in.

 

“Alright, so we send shadowhunters,” Isabelle suggested. Raphael wished it were that simple.

 

“To a mundane like him, there’ll be no difference between the presence of angelic blood or demonic. All he’ll sense is an ‘otherness’,” he said. Isabelle scoffed.

 

“Mundanes have no powers like that. Besides all we want to do is talk to him!” she pointed out. Luke let out a chuckle and gave Raphael a look that Raphael instantly knew the meaning of. It was the look that a parent gave another one when their child was being particularly stubborn.

 

“He’s not just a priest, Isabelle. He’s a drug dealer. How many drug dealers do you think are calm, reasonable people?” Raphael asked. Isabelle’s expression showed that this had never occurred to her. Honestly, shadowhunters were so used to acting first and asking questions later that it clearly had never occurred to her that there might be real danger with going in guns blazing.

 

“His gang is sizable too. They could easily take us all out,” Luke chipped in.

 

“There’s another option,” Raphael said. That caught Luke and Isabelle’s attention. Raphael wished that he could take it back, but this was about more than his own comfort level. This was about finding Simon, as quickly as possible. This was about protecting his people.

 

This was about having goddamn faith that everything would work out alright in the end.

 

“His grandmother is a woman called Renata. She’s still alive and lives in a tenement over that way. We have… history,” he said. Luke gave Raphael a look that said he was rather interested in what that history might be, but Isabelle was already leaning forward eagerly.

 

“You think he’ll listen to his grandma?” she asked. Raphael nodded hesitantly.

 

“She’s an _iyalorichás_ now. If he has any respect for the community, he has to respect her even more than as his _abuela_ ,” he explained. Isabelle frowned, clearly not familiar with that kind of Spanish.

 

Raphael didn’t blame her. He personally found it all to be a ridiculous concept, even with it’s Catholic roots.

 

“An illi-what?” she asked.

 

“Think of her like the maker of little baby Santería priests,” he explained. Isabelle’s eyebrows raised but she said nothing, folding her arms in front of her.

 

“When you say history… Are we talking ‘oh what fond memories’ history or are we talking about ‘rip your face off’ history?” Luke asked.

 

Raphael got to his feet, throwing his jacket around his shoulders as he did so.

 

“I guess we’re going to find out,” he said, pushing down on his emotions and going to do what needed to be done.

 

*

 

Running his hands down Simon’s chest felt like Confession. Raphael had never thought that physical contact could bring him anything except a vague sense of shame in himself and more guilt, but Simon’s gasps and pleas to a higher power that couldn’t hear him sounded more like forgiveness to Raphael’s ears than any Hail Mary.

 

“ _Rafa_ ,” Simon breathed before grabbing the front of Raphael’s jacket and toppling them onto the bed. Raphael would normally have been fussing over getting comfortable, making sure he wasn’t hanging half off the bed, but he was too overcome to even think about it too much.

 

Simon was kissing him with a hunger that was almost feral. His hands slid into Raphael’s hair, gripping the dark locks and holding him desperately close. Raphael allowed himself to be pulled forward, pressing himself against Simon so tightly that he could feel every tremble that went through the fledgling’s body.

 

His body was responding to the stimuli in a way that was both foreign and familiar. He’d had sex before, but he’d never felt like this beforehand. He’d never felt the overwhelming desire to pleasure his partner, never been particularly concerned about reaching pleasure for himself either. Yet the longer they kissed, the more grateful he became for every minute shift of Simon’s hips against his own.

 

It felt like fire was consuming him. Some kind of holy flame that was burning him from the inside out. Simon’s hands traced embers down his back as they slid down it, causing him to arch his spine and only bring them closer.

 

“Shit!”

 

Simon was suddenly pulling away and Raphael was left, dazed, wondering why Simon wasn’t kissing him anymore.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked and was surprised to hear what his own voice sounded like. Was this what desire sounded like coming from his own mouth?

 

“Nothing. It’s just…” Simon opened his mouth and Raphael saw that his fangs had descended. Relieved, Raphael chuckled and leaned forward to kiss Simon’s jaw.

 

“Fighting or fucking, those things are always going to pop out,” he said. Simon made a noise halfway between pleasure at the butterfly kisses along his jaw and frustration.

 

“Vampires must give the world’s most careful blow jobs,” he muttered. Raphael laughed again, pulling back and looking Simon in the eye.

 

“They don’t have to be as careful as you think,” he said. “Don’t you remember what it feels like to be bitten?”

 

Simon’s face became slightly pained. Raphael felt like an asshole for bringing it up but he pressed forward with his point anyway.

 

“Vampires can’t feed off each other, but it doesn’t stop us doing other things,” he said and then let his encanto roll out. It wouldn’t be the same now that Simon was a vampire, but he hoped that it would work just the same.

 

For a moment Simon seemed confused but then he let down his defenses and allowed Raphael’s encanto in. Raphael didn’t have the power to control him, but he could insight the same sense of euphoria. Simon shivered in his arms, before letting out a soft gasp.

 

“G-ngh- _Raphael,”_ he moaned. Raphael smirked and leaned forward, pressing a kiss against Simon’s neck before slowly sinking his teeth into it.

 

Simon bucked in his arms, his whole being seeming taut for a moment until Raphael pulled away, carefully pulling his vampires powers back in. Simon’s eyes were wide.

 

“I heard it feels good,” he said and Simon was staring at him with bright eyes.

 

“I want to try,” he whispered, the wound on his neck already healing. Raphael hesitated for a moment before he nodded. Simon’s expression lit up and he kissed Raphael firmly.

 

Raphael had expected Simon to have no subtlety, but when he let Simon’s encanto take him it was like being hit by the wrath of God. He trembled, hands gripping Simon’s shirt just for something to hold onto so he wouldn’t get completely lost. Was this the strength of Simon’s desire for him? Something that left him almost drowning in how devotional it was?

 

He was hyper aware of Simon’s lips trailing over his jaw, down his neck. He could feel tingling trails left by his lips. His nerves felt like they’d been set ablaze with every single one sending jolts to his stomach.

 

Then Simon bit down, so gentle, so tenderly, so reverently, that Raphael only knew he had from the way his vision whited out.

 

He rode the waves of sensation, barely aware of anything except the way that Simon tenderly held onto him until he was spent.

 

Simon withdrew and Raphael kept his eyes closed waiting for the usual feelings to consume him. But guilt and shame and regret didn’t manifest. Instead a lazy satisfaction curled into his stomach, alien but not unwelcome.

 

He opened his eyes and saw Simon was watching him. There was an apprehensiveness about his expression, but also an overwhelming gratitude in his eyes.

 

“Thank you,” Simon whispered. “For trusting me to do that.”

 

Raphael had no words to say to that. He had no guide for the emotions he felt, no plan, so he did something he rarely did - he acted on instinct.

 

He pushed on Simon’s shoulders, making him lie on his back and leaned over him, kissing him fervidly. Simon kissed back just as intensely, his arms wrapping around Raphael’s neck as he did so.

 

Raphael slid his hand down Simon’s stomach, resting for a moment on his belt buckle. When Simon did nothing to discourage him, he quickly began to undo it. Simon’s hips rolled up into his hand and he had to gently press down on his hips to keep him still while he worked his fly open.

 

Simon’s cock was hard, dripping precome. Raphael had never given a handjob to anyone before, but he was pretty sure he knew what to do. He didn’t waste any time with teasing or gentleness. He thought perhaps that would wait for another time. Instead he started to stroke Simon with the same kind of single-mindedness that Simon’s encanto had filled him with.

 

Simon groaned and whimpered, eyes closed tightly. He didn’t last long, but Raphael had hardly expected him to. He spilled himself over Raphael’s hand and his own stomach and lay there for a few moments, gathering his senses.

 

When he met Raphael’s eyes again, he looked like someone who had seen a miracle.

 

“Raphael I…”

 

Simon didn’t finish his sentence but he didn’t need to.

 

Raphael felt free.

 

*

 

Raphael ignored the cigarette smoke curling around him from the man stood outside the grocery store and instead focused on ignoring the way the crucifix around his neck burnt into his skin. He’d spent the day trying to convince their leader, Camille, that the vampires should make pledges not to touch any of the local Civil Rights leaders - that in the current climate it would be too noticeable if they were turned or injured.

 

Camille had dismissed him, saying he worried too much, but Raphael could see the way things were going quite clearly. The NAACP was gaining a huge amount of attention, there was talk of a huge march in Washington. Times were changing quickly and the vampires _had_ to move with them.

 

Perhaps Camille had merely been alive too long to be able to adapt so easily anymore? Or perhaps she merely thought that mundane politics didn’t affect her at all?

 

“Raphael, what a surprise to see you here,” a woman’s voice said. Raphael turned and nearly did a double-take.

 

“Renata,” he said. She had grown up, changed. Even a few years had done things to her body and the way she held herself that made Raphael angry for all the things that had been taken from him.

 

She wore a dress that seemed almost too modest for her, bridal white with her shoulders covered. Her lipstick was no longer a bold slash of red across her mouth, but instead a subtler color. Around her neck hung what Raphael thought might have been a rosary.

 

“And look at you. You haven’t aged a day,” she said and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Raphael allowed it, trying to ignore the scent of her blood underneath the overwhelming scent of her perfume.

 

“Good genetics,” he lied. Renata pulled away and smiled.

 

“Well, I should have got some of those genetics for myself because I swear I have aged twenty years since I married Antonio,” she said. Raphael couldn’t believe she’d actually married him. He’d heard, obviously, that they had been involved together from his mother, but he’d never actually considered that someone as driven as Renata would settle for someone as mediocre as Antonio.

 

Yet she got what she deserved, he supposed.

 

“I wish I could be sympathetic,” he lied. He didn’t wish it at all.

 

Renata stared at him for a moment, before she tilted her head to the side. He knew that look. It was the look Renata gave someone before they went in for the kill.

 

“I heard, you know. That they all died,” she said. Raphael felt his stomach churn. Their faces haunted him in almost every waking moment and had it not been for Magnus...

 

“You know, their spirits still linger around here sometimes. It’s creepy to see them on the streets when I know no one else can,” she continued, looking around the street. Raphael swallowed, his chest feeling tight.

 

“You see them?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if mortals had the powers to see spirits, it was one thing he’d never asked Magnus and Camille’s only interest in mundanes was feeding from them, but the way Renata said it so matter-of-factly left no doubt in his mind that she at least believed she did.

 

“When I got pregnant with my first, my parents sent me away remember? Well, my grandmother is a _Santera_. After Matthew was born, I followed her path,” she explained. Raphael nodded. He had heard that when Renata, unmarried at that point, fell pregnant her parents had sent her back to live with her family. So much had happened to him since then that he hadn’t really thought about it much since.

 

“Then you know, don’t you? About me,” he asked, because there was no point in hiding it. Renata gave him a slow smile.

 

“It would have been rude to bring it up,” she said. Raphael couldn’t meet her eyes.

 

“Have you spoken to them?” he asked. Renata’s mouth thinned.

 

“I ain’t messing with no spirits. I just send them on their way,” she said. “Besides, technically I’m not meant to even acknowledge I see them.”

 

Raphael didn’t know what to say. The idea that the boys he had murdered, his gang, his _friends_ , were still wandering restless around the neighborhood almost overwhelmed him with guilt.

 

“But you survived, didn’t you? To become the monster that you sought to slay?” Renata continued, always one to find a weak point and go for blood. “But you still visit your mama and give her money every month to raise your brothers. You still wear that cross around your neck. I can respect that Raphael.”

 

Raphael reached up, resting a finger against the cross on his neck and ignoring the burn.

 

“Tell your kids not to play near the Hotel Dumont,” he said after a moment. Renata slowly inclined her head, accepting the warning as what it was.

 

“May God have mercy on your poor, damned soul, Raphael Santiago,” she said, crossing herself.

 

 _“Que Dios los bendiga,”_ he replied. She seemed surprised for a moment, before she smiled, hand going up to the beads around her neck before she turned on her heel and walked away.

 

*

 

The tenement wasn’t as run down as Raphael was expecting. Its corridors were relatively freshly painted compared to the others, and there was even a few flowers in pots in the windows. He knocked on the door sharply.

 

Beside him, Isabelle shifted from side to side. Luke had gone back to the NYPD to pour over missing person’s reports in the hopes that he could identify the John Doe werewolf and get some more answers.

 

Raphael wished that Isabelle had gone with him, but she had insisted that Raphael was not going to go into any dangerous situation alone.

 

The door opened and an old woman stood there. She was plump, but still in a curvy way that spoke that she had once been a great beauty. Around her neck hung the beads of her profession, as well as a crucifix made from gold. She wore a simple white dress with an apron over it that had splashes of whatever she had been cooking that day. In her hand was a cane.

 

“Now, you’re a face from the past,” Renata said, her voice cracked with age and from what Raphael could tell, a lot of cigarettes.

 

She leaned forward, pressing a kiss against his cheek. His skin crawled.

 

“Renata, this is Isabelle Lightwood,” he said, gesturing to Isabelle at his side. Isabelle held out her hand to be shook and Renata shook it with a look of amusement. She seemed to take in Isabelle’s attire all at once - the skintight black jeans, the high heels, the snug leather jacket - and make a snap judgment about her.

 

Raphael could read Renata well enough to know that she thought she’d found someone like her.

 

She would probably never know how wrong she was.

 

“Oh aren’t you a beautiful thing. Is he treating you right, dear? I hope he hasn’t been too distant with you. That was always Raphael’s problem,” Renata said, backing away from the door and letting them in.

 

“We’re not dating,” Isabelle said as she ducked through the door. Raphael looked around the apartment. It was small, and old-fashioned. Renata had clearly stopped updating her sense of style somewhere around the 1970s and allowed kitsch and religious clutter to overwhelm any plan for her house since. Still, it was clean, which was something, even if the smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the air from a still lit cigarette in an ashtray.

 

“Oh Heaven’s, still unmarried Raphael, after all these years. I always assumed you’d just _grow into it_ , baby,” she said, walking slowly into the house and taking them into her kitchen. There was a pristine white tablecloth laid out, and on top of that a rather large statue of St Peter. “And after they made that marriage bill last year… I always assumed you were just waiting for that.”

 

“You’re going senile,” Raphael said, taking a seat at the table without being offered. Isabelle hovered uncertainly, seeming to sense Raphael’s hostility but also being unable to see the threat in this old little old woman.

 

“Oh, you wish I was. But then I still remember what it was like to roll about in the back of a car with you in quite vivid detail. Would you like me to tell the nice girl?” Renata asked, her eyes twinkling. He wondered if that was a fond memory for her, as much as it was an unsettling one for him.

 

“The back of the car? Renata, I’m pretty sure it was the front. It was the back of the florists and down the side and right a bit of the general store,” he replied, not allowing anything to show on his face. He knew that behind the wrinkled face and grey hair, the mind of the predator he’d once known still lurked.

 

“Now who sounds sentimental,” she asked, leaning heavily on a chair. She gestured for Isabelle to sit. Isabelle did so silently and she was looking at Renata in a different way now, far more calculating.

 

Just as Renata had measured Isabelle at the door, so now did Isabelle try and get measure of Renata. Raphael wondered what it was the shadowhunter saw.

 

“We got things from each other. Until you got knocked up with Antonio’s brat, which is kind of why we’re here,” Raphael explained, leaning forward on the table. Renata seemed surprised but she picked up a tea towel from the table and put it over her shoulder.

 

“Before we get to business then; are you hungry? I made some _asapao_ earlier and it’s still bubbling away on the stove,” she offered. Raphael rolled his eyes.

 

“I wouldn’t be able to eat it Renata,” he reminded her. Renata waved at him dismissively. A gesture she hadn’t used when she was younger and had been so much more in control of herself. He wondered if she had softened from becoming a grandmother.

 

“I wasn’t offering you. The poor girl looks like a strong wind would knock her over,” Renata said, gesturing to Isabelle. Isabelle looked surprised to be addressed and jerked in her seat a little, pulled out of her careful observation of their enemy.

 

“I-If you wouldn’t mind,” she said. Renata smiled and turned to start getting things ready.

 

“I have some pig’s blood in the fridge too. Fresh from the butcher this morning. Can you guys drink that?” she asked, pulling bowls and glasses down from shelves and laying them out. Raphael blinked.

 

“I… Yes, we can, but you don’t have to-” he began but she cut him off.

 

“I need to use a different glass for blood. I’ll be right back. Make yourselves at home,” she said and left the room. Raphael stared at the glasses and bowls on the counter.

 

Renata the domestic goddess or hospitable grandmother did not sit well with him. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

“So by _history_ , you meant the two of you were lovers in the past?” Isabelle hissed. Raphael shifted in his seat. Isabelle already knew too much about him. He wasn’t about to tell her this．He hadn’t even told Simon about what had happened with Renata. There was a weird mix of shame and disgust at himself that settled in his gut at the thought of her.

 

“It was a weird arrangement and I honestly don’t want to talk about it,” he said. Isabelle was regarding him with those knowing dark eyes that her brother didn’t share. Raphael wished, more than ever, that she had chosen to go with Luke.

 

“Has she changed much?” Isabelle asked, glancing over at the door. Raphael frowned.

 

“She’s a _grandmother_. Of course she’s changed,” he pointed out. Isabelle tilted her head to the side.

 

“So she wasn’t like this before?” she asked. Raphael’s lip curled in disgust.

 

“No. She was a pain in the ass,” he said just as Renata came back into the room.

 

“Oh, be quiet. I’ve changed a lot over the years,” she said, putting the glass on the counter. Raphael noticed that it was scratched and chipped. She wasn’t about to serve an undead monster from her best glassware it seemed.

 

“Clearly…” he said and he was entirely unconvinced that she was really as harmless as she was portraying herself.

 

“I was an angry young woman who wanted to get back at men I thought were holding me back. I wasn’t exactly wrong about it either,” Renata said, opening her refrigerator and drawing a jar of blood from it. She sloshed it into the glass. “I did some terrible things to those men, in the end, but no worse than the things that those men did to me.”

 

“I did nothing to you,” Raphael reminded her. “I was _fifteen_.”

 

He hadn’t meant to let that escape but he heard Isabelle shift uncomfortably.

 

“By the time you arrived I was tired of adjusting to the whims of little boys,” she retorted. Raphael glared at her. Nothing excused the way she had bullied and manipulated and…

 

Raphael cut his own thoughts off. He wouldn’t go down that route.

 

“Anyhow, now that we’ve got food and drink like civilised people, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?” Renata asked and she turned, serving up Raphael’s blood and Isabelle’s _asapao_. Raphael didn’t touch the food and it seemed Isabelle had lost her appetite because she just stirred the rice soup in front of her absently.

 

“We’re here about your grandson,” Raphael said. Renata lowered herself slowly into a chair and rested both of her hands on her cane.

 

“Are his boys encroaching on the Hotel Dumont?” she asked. Raphael wasn’t surprised that Renata was knowledgable about her grandson’s business.

 

“You know about the hotel?” Isabelle asked, leaning forward. Renata looked amused.

 

“I passed word around a few years back to all the _Olorichas_ to keep away and leave that place be. But my grandson is not one to let things lie,” she admitted, her eyes burning into Raphael’s.

 

“Can we be honest with you?” Isabelle asked and Raphael saw it, the sharklike way Renata’s pupils expanded. Isabelle had shown first blood, simply by being the first to give up the game of pleasantries they had going.

 

Isabelle seemed oblivious though.

 

“I am over eighty years old. You literally cannot surprise me anymore,” Renata said, reaching forward and patting Isabelle on the knee. Raphael resisted the urge to snarl at her not to _dare_ touch Isabelle again.

 

“We think the El Barrio gang is selling meth specifically marketed at people like Raphael. We need to ask. It’s affecting their families,” Isabelle said, her hand still idly stirring the soup. Raphael wished that she would shut up but there was no way to signal to her non-obviously to be quiet.

 

“Families? You people have families, huh?” Renata asked, turning to Raphael. She could see the fury burning in his eyes and her kind smile grew sharper, more pointed.

 

Renata had not mellowed in old age, she had merely become better at hiding her viciousness.

 

“Someone very important to me is missing, Renata. We need the cooperation of your grandson,” Raphael said, leaving no room for negotiation. Renata leaned back in her chair.

 

“Someone important. It’s that boy, isn’t it? Was his name Simon?” Renata asked.

 

Raphael felt like the room was spinning suddenly. A thousand thoughts rose in his mind, each one sicker than the last. He felt sick. The idea that Renata knew Simon, that he might have been another of power games...

 

“How do you know him?” Isabelle asked, seeing that Raphael had lost his ability to speak. Renata adjusted her hands on her cane.

 

“Come now. I work in strange and mystical spells and substances. You think we don’t get animal blood from the same abattoir as the Hotel Dumort?” she asked. Isabelle seemed to accept that, but Raphael still felt suspicious. Even at over eighty years old, he wouldn’t have trusted Renata not to go after Simon just for an old grudge.

 

“He didn’t know who I was, of course, but he used to chat about you. You were more than just friends, I take it?” Renata asked. Raphael clutched the glass of blood hard, his knuckles white.

 

“It’s none of your business,” he said. Renata leaned forward, eyes intent.

 

“Give an ex-girlfriend some gossip,” she said. Raphael shook his head, trying to clear the nauseated feeling that had embedded itself in his stomach.

 

“You were not my girlfriend,” he spat. Renata leaned back again, pleased.

 

“I guess you’re right about that,” she said, before waving her hand again, that dismissive gesture that said anything she had done in the past was to be forgiven. “Anyway, you need my family’s co-operation and you expect me to be able to slap them in line. Well, my old bones aren’t what they used to be, and I’m not going to hobble all the way down to that stupid hideout they’ve got, but I can arrange a meeting between you.”

 

“What’s the cost, Renata?” Raphael asked. Renata reached up and clutched the beads around her neck.

 

“I’m doing it out of the goodness of my own heart,” she said. Raphael wasn’t fooled.

 

“That was never the case with us,” he reminded her. Renata dropped the act and instead she fixed her gaze on Isabelle.

 

“Alright then. A vial of the girl’s blood should do it. It seems to have some interesting properties,” she said. Isabelle looked surprised and she glanced at Raphael.

 

He had no idea what use angel blood would have in _Regla de Ochá_ , but he was almost certain it probably wouldn’t be good for Isabelle. Even so, they were in somewhat of a bind. They _needed_ to talk to her grandson.

 

“Whatever, I’ll agree to that,” Isabelle said finally, holding out her arm. Renata smiled and got to her feet. She drew a syringe from one of the kitchen drawers and Raphael was reminded again that she was in with drug dealers now. He watched as she drew Isabelle’s blood without spilling a drop.

 

“You know all those spells don’t work, right? It’s just nonsense, not real magic,” Isabelle said dismissively, holding a piece of kitchen towel against where she had been pricked. Renata was transferring the blood into a vial, which she sealed with a stopper.

 

“Oh my dear, if the Saints could hear you they would strike you down,” she said, though it was mostly to herself. Isabelle drew up in her seat.

 

“I’m a shadowhunter. I literally have the blood of angels inside me. I’m telling you-” she began, the speech that Raphael was sure might have been impressive to any other mundane, but fell unsurprisingly short on this one.

 

“Do not worry yourself with such petty small things. This is as much about believing you have control as actually having it. Isn’t it Raphael?” Renata asked, looking at him.

 

Raphael felt his breath leave him. He realised, ever since he’d walked in the door, he’d let her have all the power here. He had been on the defense, on the back foot, and yet he wasn’t the weak one in this situation.

 

He wasn’t the one who could be so easily broken.

 

“The illusion of power is often far more important than the actuality of it,” he said, for the first time since he entered the apartment squaring his shoulders and lifting his head up.

 

Renata held up the vial of Isabelle’s blood, smiling slightly.

 

*

 

“Rafa, you’ve got to stop riding them like this,” Simon chided gently. Raphael, who had been pacing their room, ranting, paused misstep. His eyes flashed with anger.

 

“As long as Magnus is missing, you expect me to sit quietly by and do nothing?” he asked. Simon, who had been doing something on his laptop, set it aside to look at Raphael seriously.

 

“They aren’t going to go against Camille and she’s all but specifically banned them all from looking. Besides, they don’t owe anything to Magnus,” he reminded Raphael. “I’m just as worried as you are but there’s only so much we can do with Camille as leader.”

 

Raphael took a deep breath. He wasn’t angry at Simon. Not really. He was angry at the situation. He was angry at Camille.

 

“They owe more than they know. Magnus has saved this clan before. They may not owe him their lives, but they certainly owe him greatly,” Raphael said, taking a seat next to Simon on the bed that they now shared every night.

 

“There’s a story there I can tell,” Simon said. Raphael thought back to how Magnus had looked that night at the Hotel Dumort, the despair in his eyes that had been so severe that he had purposefully erased his memories of events according to Catarina Loss.

 

“Not anything worth sharing. What’s done is done,” Raphael said. He would rather not talk about it to Simon, to admit to him the depths of depravity that the vampires could fall to if their leader failed.

 

“You’ve got to lead them with more subtlety than this. Come on, Shadow Master, you’ve got to have an idea of how to get round Camille and get them all searching,” Simon said, thankfully dropping the previous line of conversation. Raphael rolled his eyes. It was all well and good to _say_ things like that, but without a solid plan everything could backfire.

 

“You have a lot of faith in me,” he said flippantly. Simon took his hand and Raphael saw there was a seriousness to his expression that hadn’t been there before.

 

“Is that what we’re calling it?” he asked.

 

“What?” Raphael felt he’d missed a beat somewhere.

 

“Oh, nothing. Faith sounds good to me,” Simon said, and where before he might have rambled on and on about how meaningless it was, this time he just let it hang there.

 

“What are you prattling on about?” Raphael asked, giving Simon’s hand a squeeze. Simon smiled at him.

 

“Well, I was just thinking about words I’d used to describe us and… I know you’re confused about your feelings and stuff but…” Ah, there was the rambling. Simon had just been waiting to be prompted into it. Raphael reached forward, resting his fingertips on Simon’s jaw and making him look at him.

 

“You think I’m keeping you around because of faith?” he asked, his voice low. Simon’s eyes still skirted away.

 

“I think that’s something you understand, isn’t it? Something that you can relate to? A point of reference?” he suggested.

 

Raphael leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Simon often used a hundred words where one would have done, but this time he’d landed on the one word that meant everything. One word that resonated, that Raphael could tell felt _right_.

 

“Faith, huh?” he asked as he drew back. Simon nodded, eyes bright and grin in place now he realised Raphael wasn’t offended.

 

“Yeah. I have faith in you, Raphael. You’ll lead them all eventually,” he said. Raphael rolled his eyes.

 

“You’re a sentimental fool,” he told him.

 

 _“Decirme cosas sucias, Papi,”_ Simon said, eyes brimming with mischief.

 

Raphael couldn’t hold back his laughter. He clutched his stomach as he laughed, trying to control himself, but glancing at Simon’s smug expression threw him into fits of laughter again.

 

“ _Dios,_ who taught you that?” he asked once he’d finally caught his breath.

 

“Luis has been teaching me _all_ the useless Spanish,” Simon grinned. Raphael shook his head, but in a way he was secretly pleased that Simon was learning _some_ Spanish, even if it was the most _useless_ of phrases.

 

“If you want to learn some real Spanish, I can practice with you,” he offered. Simon’s expression brightened.

 

“You would? Because I got these textbooks and I’ve been using this website for vocabulary and-” Simon looked like he was about to excitedly run off to get the books, but Raphael snagged his waist and pulled him in, kissing him firmly on the mouth to cut him off.

 

“I have faith you’ll study hard,” he said when he pulled away, dark eyes filled with a strange pride and happiness that he couldn’t have put into any word except the one Simon had given him - faith.

 

*

 

 _“Abuela,”_ Antonio walked into the apartment. Raphael regarded him carefully. A man in his thirties wearing a pair of expensive jeans and a button-up shirt. He had the beads of a _Santero_ around his neck and a pair of shades on top of his head.

 

“Antonio,” Renata greeted him, getting to his feet. Antonio kissed her on the cheek and then turned to them. Raphael saw the moment he realised who they were.

 

“...the fuck are they doing in your house?” he asked. Renata didn’t react to the anger.

 

“They have a few questions about your business,” she said calmly, taking a seat again. Antonio looked disgusted. It was an expression that Raphael had seen on shadowhunters faces throughout the years with their dealings with him. A look that said that they wouldn’t do business with what they considered to be monsters.

 

“They can buy off the street like everyone else. Demonic scum,” Antonio spat. Raphael raised an eyebrow.

 

“As much of a prick as your grandfather, huh?” he said, mostly because he thought he had the measure of a man like Antonio. Hot-headed and completely without morals. He was probably exceptionally easy for a woman like Renata to manipulate.

 

“Watch your mouth, _cabron_ ,” Antonio hissed and Raphael just smirked at him.

 

“You shouldn’t speak to your elders that way,” he said.

 

“No way are you my elder. You’re all of, what, nineteen?” Antonio said. Raphael realised he didn’t quite know what he was dealing with. He could sense an ‘otherness’, sure, but that was all. He didn’t know that Raphael could kill him in an instant.

 

“You should listen to him, Antonio. Raphael is older than he looks. He was running your gang before your father was even a twinkle in my eye,” Renata interjected. Beside her, Isabelle was silently watching the proceedings.

 

Raphael gave Renata a sideways glance. If this was the leader of the gang, Raphael would live off rats’ blood for the rest of his life. Antonio might make the day to day business decisions, but it was clear his _abuela_ was running the show.

 

“You really did manage to get the power you wanted in the end, huh?” he said. Renata looked entertained.

 

“Oh, you know it, baby,” she replied. Antonio, who had watched the exchange, suddenly exploded.

 

“I don’t have to respect him. He’s nothing. Just some bottom-dweller we can scrape out of the neighborhood in a heartbeat. Disrespecting my grandfather right in front of me,” he said, and he actually squared up against Raphael. It was almost amusing. Raphael looked at him, his expression amused in a vague way.

 

“You know, Antonio, I was never _quite_ sure who Matthew’s father was,” Renata mused, almost to herself. Antonio’s face paled but Raphael wasn’t about to be thrown off by her games.

 

“You don’t smell like me. She’s playing games with your mind. I am definitely not related to you,” he said. Antonio looked like he was about to blow a fuse.

 

“Why did you call me here _abuela_? I don’t want to have anything to do with these… things,” he waved a hand at Raphael, fixing his grandmother with an angry stare.

 

“There’s a boy missing, Antonio. A good boy. Raphael is trying to find him,” Renata said and her tone brokered no room for argument on that. Antonio shifted his weight from foot to foot.

 

“What’s that got to do with us? He a druggie or something?” he asked. Raphael cleared his throat to draw Antonio’s attention back to himself.

 

“No, but your drugs might have something to do with his disappearance. I need to know if you sell to people like me or lace bags of blood with drugs,” he said.

 

Antonio didn’t look at him. Instead his eyes darted to the fridge, then to his grandmother, then to the saint on the center of the table.

 

“Why have you gone quiet? Speak up,” Renata said. When Antonio still didn’t say anything Renata got to her feet and, with a sprightliness that defied her age, hit her grandson across the thighs with her cane.

 

“Ow! Shit, alright!” Antonio yelped. Isabelle coughed back a laugh.

 

“So the way we transport our product is using blood and organ transport bikes right? No one stops a scooter that looks like it’s delivering someone’s heart transplant,” Antonio explained. Raphael nodded. It made sense even if it was grossly inappropriate. “Sometimes packets rupture and contaminate the stock. Usually we just sell the animal blood and organs back into the market but when it’s contaminated we can’t.”

 

“Someone gave you a buyer for your waste, didn’t they?” Raphael asked. Antonio looked like he’d rather eat maggots than give Raphael his answer but his eyes went to Renata’s cane and he nodded.

 

“Yeah. They pay us to make sure that it gets into the hands of your kind,” he said. Raphael felt anger flood him.

 

“Who are they?” he asked. Antonio reached into his pocket, lighting up a cigarette. Raphael tried to ignore the way that the smoke escaped his nostrils as he spoke.

 

“I don’t have a name but they got a warehouse down in Brooklyn where they pay us. It’s actually becoming more profitable for us to just break the meth bags a little and sell it down there, y’know,” Antonio said, flicking ash into an ashtray Renata quickly handed him.

 

“Why don’t they just mix the meth stuff themselves?” Isabelle asked, deciding to get involved now it was less of a dick-measuring contest.

 

“Who around here is gonna trust some white guy in a suit to sell them drugs?” Antonio replied. Raphael had to admit he had a point.

 

“I’m going to need that address,” he said. Antonio snorted.

 

“I’m not going to give it to you. This is my livelihood,” he pointed out. Raphael was about to say something else when Isabelle stepped forward.

 

“Find another job,” she suggested in a way that could only be described as threatening.

 

“Whoa there, little girl. Don’t get all mouthy on me unless you gonna put that mouth to work,” Antonio leered. Raphael immediately stepped in front of Isabelle, his fangs slowly sliding down.

 

“Say another word to her and I will end you, right here, right now, on your grandmother’s carpet,” he threatened. Renata didn’t react at all, calmly watching with her hands on her cane.

 

It seemed Antonio didn’t realise the danger he was in because instead of backing down, he moved so he was so close Raphael could feel the heat of his breath on his face. It was foul and stank of tobacco.

 

“I don’t got to be afraid of you. You can’t touch me. I’m protected by the Saints,” Antonio said.

 

Raphael had dealt with men like Antonio from being fifteen years old. He didn’t even pause to think before his fist connected with Antonio’s face, shattering his front teeth and throwing him back against the kitchen wall.

 

“I’m sorry about your grandson’s teeth, Renata,” he said calmly. Isabelle had moved forward at first, but then frozen in shock as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do. He guessed her shadowhunter training was telling her that she should intervene on behalf of the mundane, though her common sense was arguing otherwise.

 

“Oh it’s quite alright. If you hadn’t knocked them down the back of his throat, I would have done,” Renata replied.

 

“Tell us the address,” Raphael said, advancing on Antonio who was gripping the wall, trying to get to his feet.

 

“Fuck you!” he replied, blood and spittle dripping down his chin. Raphael wasn’t impressed. He kicked him hard in the ribs, hearing them crack satisfyingly. Still, Antonio gave him a defiant look. Raphael picked him up by the throat.

 

“The address,” he said. Antonio spat in his face.

 

Raphael slammed him against the wall, pressing down hard on his windpipe. Antonio’s hands scratched harmlessly against his hand, trying to get him to let go but to no avail.

 

“Raphael! You’re going to kill him!” Isabelle shrieked. Raphael let him go, allowing him to sink down the wall, gasping for breath.

 

“You’ll never get out of this place alive. I got men downstairs who’ll-” Antonio began as he got his voice back. Raphael backhanded him across the face.

 

“Address. Now,” he ordered. Antonio still said nothing. Raphael brought his heel down on his hand, feeling the fingers break.

 

“Raphael, that’s enough!” Renata yelled and she moved to come between them. Isabelle held her back however, clearly sensing that it wouldn’t be a good idea to have the elderly mundane in the way between an angry vampire and a drug dealer.

 

“Sorry Renata, that’s not how this one is going to play out this time,” Raphael said. He saw the realisation dawn in her eyes that, though she’d thought she held all the cards, she hadn’t from the moment he’d entered the room. Raphael could end her grandson’s life right here, right now, and she would be completely powerless to stop him. Everything she had built for herself would disappear overnight.

 

Raphael turned back to the groaning drug dealer on the floor and crouched down so they were eye level.

 

“Listen, you sack of shit. I don’t know who’s filled your head with this macho bullshit, though I can take a good guess,” he said. Antonio’s right eye was swelling shut, but his left looked to his grandmother. It was all Raphael needed to know. “But you know what isn’t worth dying over - money. Whatever they’re paying you, I will double it to keep you out of our way.”

 

Antonio made a strange gurgling sound and Raphael guessed he’d done a little more damage to his throat than he’d intended.

 

“He’ll accept the deal,” Renata said, her voice shaking. Raphael stood up and gestured to the table.

 

“Write down the address,” he ordered. Antonio dragged himself to his feet and collapsed into one of the chairs. His grandmother quickly supplied a pen and paper. Using his unbroken left hand, Antonio meticulously wrote down the address in a shaky, childlike scrawl.

 

When he was done, Raphael picked up the paper and leaned forward, eyes entirely black, a tight smile on his face.

 

“If I find out you’ve lied to me, I will personally see to it that every vampire, every werewolf, every creature from your worse nightmares will hunt you and your men down. And they won’t kill you, oh no, they’ll do something much worse to you,” he promised and then dropped his voice to a whisper. “They’ll make you into one of me. And then you can see how a _Santeros_ fares amongst the demons.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response, sweeping out of the room. He heard Isabelle following him, the forcefulness of her footsteps let him know that she was not pleased with the situation, but he had no time to listen to her complaints.

 

They had made progress, _real_ progress, and that was enough.

 

*

 

“Raphael, that was completely out of line! You could have killed him!” Isabelle shrieked. Back at the Hotel Dumort, Raphael was drinking blood in a whiskey glass while Isabelle stood next to him, feet apart and eyes flashing.

 

“We got our answers,” he replied.

 

“But we are _not_ murderers!” she yelled and Raphael realised she really believed that. She honestly believed that they were the _good guys_ and that their actions would never be morally questionable.

 

“Aren’t we? Do you have any idea the number of people I’ve killed?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. Isabelle took a deep breath as though she had something more to say so he cut her off. “I’m a vampire, Isabelle. I’d barely turned before I started murdering.”

 

“It’s different. That would have been different from killing because you turned-” she began and Raphael turned on the bar stool. In the dark light her anger was beautiful, magnificent, heated, but that’s all it was. A child’s temper tantrum when its idealism was challenged.

 

“Just what would you have had me do? Stand there and ask nicely until he came around? You don’t know anything about how this all works, do you?” he asked, refusing to even get out of his chair.

 

“I know that there are other ways to get what you want besides violence!” she replied. Raphael rolled his eyes.

 

“Well, luckily for us, he understood violence. And so did his grandmother,” he pointed out.

 

“Don’t become a monster, Raphael. That’s the last thing Simon would have wanted,” Isabelle begged. Raphael felt anger flash in him. When Simon had turned, the shadowhunters had all but abandoned him to Raphael, too busy trying to save Magnus to even give Simon a second thought. And now Isabelle was preaching to him about the things _Simon_ would want and need.

 

“Ah, the judgement of Angels,” he said bitterly. Isabelle actually stamped her foot.

 

“Don’t you dare act that way! Don’t you dare act like I’m saying anything wrong!” she said. Raphael was about to say something unfortunate in response when a voice called across the bar.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is going on here?” Magnus asked, walking around the bar and running a finger through the dust on it with distaste. He clicked his fingers and Raphael watched as all the dust magicked itself away.

 

“A disagreement on scientific method,” Raphael replied. Isabelle scowled at him.

 

“Raphael almost _killed_ someone,” she said and looked at Magnus appealingly. Magnus didn’t look surprised.

 

“Are they dead?” he asked, leaning over the bar and helping himself to one of the bottles of liquor there.

 

“No,” Isabelle replied almost begrudgingly. Magnus grabbed a glass and poured himself what smelled to Raphael like whiskey.

 

“Ah, well, all’s well that ends well then,” the warlock said and toasted Isabelle, taking a sip. Isabelle’s eyes were wide.

 

“How can you-” she began but Magnus clicked his fingers. No magic followed. It was merely a way to get her attention.

 

“Isabelle, I say this with great affection and it comes from a very loving place, but please be quiet,” he said. Raphael couldn’t help but be amused. Magnus certainly was softer than many Downworlders, and had more scruples than most, but he was not in the habit of policing the behavior of others unless the specifically went to him asking for his help.

 

“How can you _condone_ this?” Isabelle asked. Magnus’ expression hardened.

 

“How do you condone violence against Downworlders? If I recall, you were more than happy to beat down werewolves and vampires and manipulate Seelies. Why is it different if it’s a mundane?” he asked. Raphael saw the light switch on in Isabelle’s head but she was already too entrenched in her opinion to back out now.

 

“That’s not fair! Those creatures were dangerous-” she tried but Magnus dismissed her. It seemed his relationship with the elder Lightwood boy didn’t stretch to putting up with the sister’s dramas, even if he was fond of her.

 

“Yes, and so was that mundane. Did you get what you needed Raphael?” Magnus said, dismissing Isabelle completely. Raphael nodded and pushed the piece of paper with the address on it over to Magnus.

 

“An address in Brooklyn as it happens,” he said. Magnus nodded.

 

“I was going to see if there was any help I could offer, and seeing as that’s my neck of the woods, you won’t mind me tagging along,” he said, folding the paper in half and putting it in his pocket. Raphael shook his head.

 

“You’d be more than welcome Magnus,” he said. “Just don’t make any jokes, wear anything flamboyant or glittering or bring your cat and we’re fine.”

 

Magnus pouted. “You’re such a spoil sport, Raphael.”

 

“How can you treat it so lightly? I almost had to take Raphael out for being in breach of the Accords!” Isabelle seemed to not be able to take being dismissed any longer and stormed out of the room, slamming the bar door behind her. Magnus leaned against the bar.

 

“Well now, that was just _rude_ ,” he commented. Raphael shrugged.

 

“ _Nephilim_ ,” he said. Magnus made a noise of agreement.

 

“Yes, indeed, _nephilim_.”

 

*

 

_If it weren't for Magnus that day, I'm not sure myself and Isabelle would have remained partners in the case. Without his interference, without him going after her, talking her round, I'm pretty sure she'd have left me. In retrospect, I wouldn't have blamed her._

 

 _What I did to Antonio, could it truly be said it was deserved? He was a monster, sure, a scumbag who prayed on the vulnerable in this city, but I didn't want to kick his face into the ground because he dealt cocaine or meth. I wanted to beat his face into the ground because I wanted to teach_ her _a lesson. I wanted to finally put an end to the power games that we had been playing for nearly half a century._

 

_Isabelle was right. Simon would have been horrified by my actions._

 

_I guess that's why I'm telling them to you. In the end, there is only forgiveness that can be sought, when you turn into the darkness others accuse you of being. I have faith you'll forgive me, perhaps, someday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes on the Spanish:** I am not a native speaker of Spanish and though I’ve tried to check most of the Spanish or have it checked over by a native speaker, I still might have made some mistakes. There are only two cases of Spanish being used in this chapter where you would need more than context clues to work out what it means. 
> 
> One is in Raphael’s conversation with Renata in the 1960s, where he offers her a religious blessing that she isn’t expecting. The other is his conversation with Simon, where Simon essentially says “Talk dirty to me, Daddy” as a joke in response to Raphael insulting him.
> 
>  **Notes on themes:** So OUATIB’s main refrain was ‘The future hasn’t been decided yet’ which came from a Japanese phrase I heard and loved.
> 
> If you haven’t noticed, the main themes driving Raphael and Simon’s relationship have been faith and family. I realised pretty early on that Raphael describing his feelings as ‘love’ in the traditional sense wasn’t going to work, he’s not one to make soppy declarations and in any case, it would be grossly inappropriate in the greysexual/romantic - demisexual/romantic space where I’ve placed him. 
> 
> But faith, an almost religious feeling, that’s how I imagine Raphael feels about this relationship. A sense of peace and affection and closeness where he doesn’t need things proved to him to believe them to be true. A kind of loyalty that is far stronger and more unbreakable, in many ways, than traditional romantic love.
> 
> I could write entire essays about this but I won’t. I’ll leave it here for you guys to think about as you read over the chapters (both past and current). If you’re ace/aro/demi/gray and you disagree, please tell me. I’d love to hear your ideas or criticisms!
> 
> The official timeline of events is [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/18_VXNtleIoyQZXUEB8exp2EzqwDiHsCbqDqsc5Pi_qo/edit?usp=sharing).


	8. Cadavers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, isn’t it just lovely?” Magnus commented, gesturing up at the warehouse. “Almost picturesque in its situation. I bet every rat in Brooklyn hangs out on the rafters to see the stars.”
> 
> Raphael counted to five in an attempt to hold his temper. Isabelle had been stubbornly silent the entire way there, except to irritatedly click her tongue a few times whenever either he or Magnus spoke. Magnus had prattled incessantly. Raphael had forgotten, or perhaps repressed, how truly _annoying_ the warlock could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dead people. Dead people everywhere. A lot of allusions to Shadowhunter racism in this chapter. Unreliable Narrator!Raphael here so there is some questionable interpretations of Clary.

_ I needed to act, my own impatience spurring me to recklessness. I needed to act because for every second Camille was out of the box, there was the chance that she would only make things terrible for us. _

  


_ I needed Isabelle to get over her ideas of right and wrong and do what needed to be done to get results. _

  


_ I needed Magnus Bane to stop making terrible jokes that no one found amusing. _

  


*

  


“Well, isn’t it just lovely?” Magnus commented, gesturing up at the warehouse. “Almost picturesque in its situation. I bet every rat in Brooklyn hangs out on the rafters to see the stars.”

  


Raphael counted to five in an attempt to hold his temper. Isabelle had been stubbornly silent the entire way there, except to irritatedly click her tongue a few times whenever either he or Magnus spoke. Magnus had prattled incessantly. Raphael had forgotten, or perhaps repressed, how truly  _ annoying _ the warlock could be.

  


“I don’t see any men in black suits lurking ominously in the shadows. We must be lucky for it to be their break time,” Magnus continued. Raphael’s eyes scanned the area. Magnus was right, of course, the place seemed to be completely abandoned.

  


He walked forward, nodding to Isabelle to follow him. She gave him a cold look and walked past him, her shoulder barging into him. Raphael scowled at her back.

  


“You have a gift for pissing off the ladies, Raphael,” Magnus said, falling into step with him. Raphael didn’t see any point in replying.

  


Isabelle got to the main door of the warehouse and reached forward. Her hand closed around a padlock and she twisted it. It clinked against the large doors, but no matter how hard she pulled or tugged, it didn’t budge. Reinforced against Shadow World strength. It didn’t bode well. Isabelle still didn’t give up though.

  


“Oh give it one more tug. I’m sure it’ll come off in your hand then,” Magnus quipped. Isabelle gave him a dark look.

  


“The last time I got a look like that… Well, perhaps that’s not a story for present company,” Magnus said. Isabelle dropped the padlock and took a few steps back.

  


Raphael took that as his cue to try. He could tell though, from the moment he picked it up, it was too strong for him to be able to rip apart. He tried to pry open the lock but to no avail.

  


“Spit on it, it might make things easier,” Magnus drawled. Raphael whirled around.

  


“Will you  _ shut up?” _ he hissed. Magnus raised an eyebrow at him.

  


“If I don’t talk, who will? Besides, I honestly don’t enjoy being a third wheel between sibling spats. I had enough of that with Jules and biscuit. I don’t need it between you two as well,” Magnus said. Isabelle folded her arms.

  


“Don’t insult me by implying I’m related to a shadowhunter,” Raphael said.

  


“And don’t insult me by saying I’m related to him!” Isabelle said and she glared at Raphael. Raphael rolled his eyes.

  


“You’re not without guilt in this situation either,” Raphael pointed out. Magnus sighed and put his hands on his hips.

  


“Well, children, seeing as Daddy has to-”

  


“Please never refer to yourself that way in my presence ever,  _ ever _ again,” Raphael interrupted him and turned away, looking for another way into the warehouse. Magnus rolled his eyes.

  


“Fine. If we’re going to all be snarky toddlers, at least allow me to get us through this as quickly as possible,” he said and stepped forward. He grabbed the padlock in his hand and, with a flash of purple flame, the mechanism clicked open. Magnus looked back over his shoulder at them as he pulled the chain off the door.

  


“Shall we?” he asked. Raphael rolled his eyes and pulled the door open. He stepped inside, peering through the gloom. It wasn’t the wide open space he’d expected. Instead there seemed to be stalls, as though the place had been used for some kind of livestock.

  


“It’s too quiet. I don’t like it,” Isabelle whispered. She was about to say something else but Raphael made a sharp gesture. He’d heard a groaning sound from somewhere inside.

  


“Sh! I can hear something!” he said and pulled Isabelle down into a crouch. Magnus scrambled down as well, getting between Raphael and Isabelle, all three of them crawling below the low wall until they reached a part of the room with a recessed floor that had probably been used as an abattoir.

  


It was then that Raphael caught the smell. The awful stench of death and human waste.

  


“Oh my god!” Magnus explained, putting his hand over his mouth and holding it there tightly. Raphael felt himself being jostled as Magnus fought to move back and Isabelle surged forward.

  


“No, Isabelle don’t-!” Raphael tried to stop her but she’d already seen. Her eyes were wide, glassy. He saw her face turn ashen.

  


Raphael estimated there had to be at least fifty or sixty bodies strewn across the floor like a terrible illustration of Dante’s inferno. The ones on the bottom were mostly rotten, the ones on the top still had looks of terror or resignation on their faces. Some of them were reaching for each other, some had dragged themselves away from the main group before they had succumbed. 

  


All of them had the strange, spiky bone-like protrusions that Maureen and the John Doe werewolf had grown. All of them were either naked or stripped to a hospital gown.

  


Their glassy, dead eyes stared out into the darkness.

  


Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears.

  


“Call Luke. Now,” Raphael said to her, shoving her back. Isabelle looked like she intended to fight him on it, but then she scrambled to her feet and fled the pile of bodies, getting outside.

  


“Magnus, there must be over fifty dead in here,” Raphael whispered. Magnus had his eyes closed, his throat seemed to be working to even take in air.

  


“Yes and I’ll bet every single one was a Downworlder. Fairies, werewolves, merpeople, nixies… We can assume that there are more deaths amongst the vampires too,” Magnus said his voice shaking as he looked anywhere but at the corpses. He clicked his fingers and two little beads of flame shot off to either side of them.

  


“If there’s anyone here, as long as they’re not vampiric, it’ll find them,” he explained. He got to his feet, shakily holding the wall. “Raphael, I haven’t seen anything like this. It’s… Even during Valentine…”

  


“These can’t all be from New York. People would have noticed,” Raphael agreed and got to his feet as well. He took a step forward, trying to make out the identities of one of the bodies. Magnus pulled him back before he got too close however.

  


“We need to contact all the clans and families and see if-”

  


“Is someone there?! Please help me! Help me!”

  


The voice was thin, reedy, weak, but Raphael thought he recognised it. He looked at Magnus, who looked like he wanted to hide again. Raphael didn’t blame him. 

  


“Wait here,” he ordered before taking off at a run. The call was coming from one of the livestock pens. He broke the lock on the gate and gagged at the smell that rose over his senses.

  


Maia was chained to the back wall tightly. Her neck, her hands and legs were all given only a few inches leeway. It must have been torturous for her muscles. There was blood all over her and the floor around her. Vomit crusted on the side of her mouth. There were no signs of the strange growths of the others though.

  


She looked up at Raphael with a haunted expression.

  


“Raphael?” she asked. Raphael, who had frozen upon laying eyes on her, quickly swooped down to her side. Her flesh was cold to touch, her circulation cut off by her restraints.

  


“Oh my god, thank god, thank god,” Maia was slurring. Her head lolled, choking her briefly until Raphael helped her get her head back up. Her face felt clammy.

  


“Let’s get you out of here. Are you hurt anywhere?” Raphael asked. He could smell blood and other bodily functions, but he couldn’t tell if it was from Maia or the pit beyond her. Maia’s eyes fluttered.

  


“Probably. I don’t know. I can’t feel my legs. I’ve been in chains so long,” she whispered. Raphael nodded and then turned to raise his voice.

  


“Magnus get in here!” he yelled. Magnus came running in and, after a quiet exclamation, got to work. There was something to be said for Magnus in a crisis - and that was that he was usually pretty good at doing what needed to be done. Maia’s bonds pinged open moments later and she rolled sideways.

  


Raphael caught her in his arms.

  


“Okay, I’m going to move you very carefully-” he said, putting his arms under her legs and wrapping his other around her back. He slowly got to his feet.

  


Maia’s scream made Raphael nearly drop her. She had passed out. He saw, now that he had moved her, the amount of blood beneath her. He glanced around his arms to see a terrible wound down her back, burns and infection had spread across all the skin he could see.

  


“Oh no,” Magnus whispered. “That’s not good. That’s spinal. We’re going to need Catarina. I am not skilled enough to heal that.” He was already on his phone, pressing buttons so quickly that Raphael could barely keep up with the words.

  


“Luke’s on his - Is that Maia?” Isabelle had returned. She still looked pale, worried, but seeing Maia her eyes lit up. Perhaps Isabelle could take comfort in a small victory but Raphael was only thinking about what could possibly have happened to Simon if Maia was like this.

  


“Magnus, get a portal. I’ll take her to Catarina Loss. The two of you stay here and wait for Luke,” Raphael ordered. Magnus didn’t even protest before throwing up a portal.

  


“I need to inform the Clave of this. Magnus if you’re okay to wait here alone…” Isabelle said. Magnus swallowed sharply and looked in the direction of the bodies but then he nodded.

  


“I’ll wait here for you to return. I’ll hold the portals so you can return as quickly as possible,” he said. Raphael adjusted Maia in his arms so that he was putting less pressure on her back and gave Isabelle a nod.

  


He stepped through the portal to the Beth Israel Hospital.

  


*

  


“Let’s take what we need and leave,” Raphael heard Clary say and he wondered what that could possibly be.

  


“If we were transfusing goat’s blood, that’d be no problem. But human blood? That’s against the Accords,” Simon replied. Raphael’s eyebrows raised. Simon had been getting involved in shadowhunter business again it seemed, and as usual the Fairchild was bringing problems to the Hotel Dumort.

  


He used his speed to move quickly through the room, appearing at Simon’s back.

  


“Against the Accords?” he breathed against Simon’s neck. Simon started and turned around, giving Raphael a frustrated glare.

  


“Jeez, Raphael, you need to  _ not _ do that to me anymore,” he protested. Raphael allowed himself a small smile.

  


“If you were as focused on controlling your enhanced senses as browsing the internet all day, you wouldn’t be surprised,” he pointed out. Simon stuck his tongue out at him in a supreme show of maturity.

  


“If I wasn’t spending so much of my day learning Spanish so I know when you’re insulting me, maybe I’d have more time to spend on other things, like vampire training,” Simon bitched. Raphael ignored him. How Simon chose to spend his eternity, whether learning Spanish, enhancing his vampire skills or ‘grinding’ on terrible Japanese online games, Raphael honestly couldn’t care beyond having the opportunity to tease him.

  


“Clary, you really have to stop barging in here,” he said, turning to the redhead. Clary pursed her lips in a pout she probably thought looked becoming. Raphael wasn’t going to be convinced by that at all.

  


“Sorry… Raphael,” and Raphael was almost certain that his name was almost a curse word from her lips. “We need blood.”

  


“So I’ve heard. Human blood,” Raphael acknowledged and he gave Simon a stern glance. Simon had the decency to look away. “Why do all those rules for Downworlders stop being such a big deal when you need our help?  _ Qué lástima _ . No can do,” Raphael said, and sat down.

  


He’d barely sat when Simon grabbed his shoulders, urging him to his feet again. He allowed it, wondering what on earth Simon was possibly going to say to change his mind. He’d warned Simon, again and again, not to get too caught up in the shadowhunter’s petty power battles.

  


Besides, if it was something to do with the Mortal Cup, he wasn’t sure he  _ wanted _ to help them.

  


“Okay, listen, c’mon,” Simon said, urging him somewhere quieter so they could speak away from Clary’s weaker senses.

  


“Last night I bumped into Bernice,” Simon began. Raphael nodded. He knew her. A bit gossipy but older than he was. Respectable, although she wasn’t part of their group. “She said she heard people asking questions about Camille… and about Magnus. Someone passed around rumors that we got shadowhunters to depose her.”

  


“You told them she took a leave of absence, right?” Raphael asked, his voice lowering in his urgency. Simon nodded quickly.

  


“Yeah, of course I did, but they aren’t going to believe me when they know we’re…” Simon made a quick gesture with his finger between the two of them. Raphael rubbed at his forehead.

  


“What does this have to do with your pet shadowhunter’s quest for human blood?” he asked, dropping his hand and pinning Simon with a stare.

  


“Bernice had a subjugate with her. She mentioned Camille kept them too, that she probably had them drained and that she wasn’t the only one in the Hotel Dumort that did so,” Simon said and Raphael could sense where this was going.

  


“Keep your voice down!” he warned, glancing over at Clary who seemed oblivious to what was going on. He pulled Simon around so that he was further away from Clary, and so that Raphael was between them, breaking any chance of eye contact. Simon might trust Fairchild, but Raphael had no such loyalty to her.

  


“Look, we got rid of all the subjugates. They’re not allowed in the Hotel Dumort,” he whispered. Which was the truth. He  _ hated _ the damn things. They gave him the creeps.

  


“Okay, so, you’re saying Camille never kept  _ any _ blood lying around?” Simon pushed. Raphael gave him a long look.

  


“It wouldn’t be fresh enough for whatever you’d need it for,” he reminded him. If he wanted  _ Camille’s _ subjugates blood then he was out of luck. Raphael wasn’t about to implicate the whole clan knowingly in front of a shadowhunter.

  


“Raphael! We’re talking about someone’s  _ life _ here!” Simon finally lost his temper. Raphael’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t remember the shadowhunters ever caring that much when it was Simon who was in trouble. It had been he, and Magnus, who had ended up saving Simon’s ass over and over again.

  


“And whatever shadowhunter is injured, I’m sorry. I’m not going to implicate anyone here in something that shows we broke the Accords,” he said firmly. Simon’s eyes lit up.

  


“So you admit it, there’s human blood here,” he said. Raphael couldn’t help but smile a little at that. Simon was smart. That was part of the reason Raphael liked him so much.

  


“I didn’t say anything like that,” he reminded him. Simon however was already calling over his shoulder.

  


“Hey, Clary, did you hear something that kind of sounded like Raphael wasn’t helping us because he wasn’t going to  _ admit _ to breaking the Accords, not that he hadn’t?” Simon asked. Raphael’s emotions warred between pride that Simon was managing to outwit him, but also anger that Simon would go so far in going against him. His mirth, however, had faded.

  


“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Clary said, stalking forward. Unlike Simon, there was no exasperated affection to her voice. It was cold. Hard.

  


It must be the Wayland kid who was in trouble.

  


“You can’t tell the Clave anything. I’d be put on trial,” Raphael reminded them. Clary leaned forward, a smirk of victory on her face that made Raphael want to rip her throat out.

  


“Then help us,” she said, as though it were that simple.

  


“Raphael, Jace will die without it,” Simon interjected. Raphael felt Simon reach out for his arm and pulled his arm away.

  


This had officially gone too far. Threatening him with  _ trial?  _ With death by  _ sunlight? _

  


“I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” Raphael said, fixing Simon with a piercing glare before he turned his back to him and muttered, “Blackmail.”

  


“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Simon said and he genuinely did sound hurt by the turn of events. Raphael decided not to think about it too closely in case he said something he regretted in front of the shadowhunter.

  


He opened up the safe, stepping back as the portrait lifted and the drawers upon drawers of  _ willingly donated _ human blood slowly slid forward.

  


“What’s his blood type?” he asked. Simon’s eyes were bright.

  


“Go for type O. Universal donor,” he said, turning to Clary for the explanation. Clary nodded and Raphael wondered if she was truly so dumb to have not known that information.

  


It didn’t matter. He walked forward and held out the three bags of blood to her. She took them, cradling them against her chest.

  


“Thank you,” she sighed then turned to Simon, her face clearing. “Simon, let’s go.”

  


“Ah-ah. Not so fast,” Raphael said, putting his hand on Simon’s arm and holding him in place. “I think we have further things to discuss. Stick around.”

  


Simon didn’t look that happy to be held back but he didn’t pull his arm away either.

  


“I’m pretty sure we don’t need to talk about how you’ve been draining mundanes and hiding that from me for months, right under my nose, while pretending that this is my home,” Simon hissed back. Raphael let his own hand drop. He hadn’t seen Simon that angry for a long time.

  


“Well, as new advisor to the interim chapter president, I guess it can be your job to police any future breaches in the Accords,” he said, but he knew that Simon wasn’t going to understand the subtext to his words the moment they left his mouth. He wasn’t going to see that Raphael was granting him power for a job well done. All he cared about was being kept from his precious  _ friend _ . Simon’s mouth turned downwards.

  


“You’re really going to pull this now?” he asked. Raphael smiled, feeling hollow all the way through to his bones.

  


“Well, you better do a thorough investigation,” he suggested. Simon gave him a look that said he was clearly unhappy.

  


“Clary, just go,” Simon said, waving her away. Clary nodded, clearly more concerned to getting back to her shadowhunter boyfriend than she was about Simon and Raphael’s relationship.

  


“Thank you…” she said. “Both of you.”

  


Then she ran away and Simon stormed off and Raphael closed up the safe.

  


Simon was being pulled in two directions, towards two very different worlds. Raphael just hoped that Simon decided soon which one he was truly part of.

  


*

  


“Isabelle, get out of here.  _ Now _ ,” Alec hissed, grabbing Isabelle’s arm the moment she stepped into the Institute and pushing her into a small cubby by the door.

  


“What? Alec what’s going on?” Isabelle asked, keeping her voice low. Alec was glancing behind him.

  


“The Clave found out that you’ve been working with Raphael and they’ve put out a warrant for your arrest for desertion,” he whispered. Isabelle felt a righteous indignation rise, hot, in her chest.

  


“That’s absurd. I’m still doing my duties as a shadowhunter,” she said. Alec moved closer to her, his tall form able to hide her smaller one from anyone further inside the Institute.

  


“Look, Izzy, you need to get out of here and lay low, alright? Magnus can help you hide until this blows over,” Alec said, taking hold of her hands and holding them both between him.

  


“I can’t just lie low! Look, we found dozens of Downworlder bodies in a warehouse in Brooklyn. And the missing werewolf, Maia. We  _ need _ the Clave to pay attention to this now,” she protested. Alec’s mouth drew tight, his eyes filled with conflict.

  


“With their current fear of Valentine, they’ll just stitch it onto the Circle to achieve their own ends,” Alec said with another glance behind him as though talking about the Circle or Valentine would cause them to appear.

  


“Alec, there were over fifty dead Downworlders. Most likely there were more but the vampires turned to dust. We’re looking at a  _ genocide _ ,” Isabelle said, gripping his hands as tightly as she could. “Magnus is there now just waiting for the Clave to come and help us-”

  


“Izzy, listen to me. You are in danger right now and that’s my biggest concern,” Alec said. Isabelle felt sick.

  


“Alec, please tell me you’re going to inform them,” she said. Alec shook his head.

  


“And implicate us all further when they’re like this? I can’t. You don’t understand what it's been like here over the past week,” Alec said. Isabelle couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that her  _ brother _ was going to go back on all the things he’d fought for over the last year just because he was  _ scared _ .

  


“So you’re abandoning the Downworlders?” she demanded, pulling her hands out of his grasp.

  


“I am  _ not  _ abandoning the Downworlders,” Alec replied flatly.

  


“Oh, I forgot. You won’t abandon the one you’re fucking, just all the others,” she hissed. Alec’s eyes went wide, his face pale.

  


“Jesus Izzy, listen to me. I chose to fight that battle for me, and it was only  _ me  _ that was affected. This time it’ll be much more far-reaching. Our whole family will end up in trouble, and there might be no way back this time. It’ll make that fiasco with Meliorn look like a child’s game. I’ll see what I can do from within the Clave but you’ve got to go. Now,” Alec tried to maneuver her out of the Institute but she dug her heels in.

  


“Coward,” she spat. Alec let go of her as though she had burned him but he still stayed planted there, between Isabelle and the rest of the Institute.

  


“Yeah but a coward that is keeping you from being thrown in jail where you’ll never find Simon,” he said. She realised she wasn’t going to be able to get past him without fighting him and, regardless of her anger, there were some lines she wasn’t prepared to cross yet.

  


“Raphael was right… We do see it as one rule for us and one rule for them. You should talk to your boyfriend about your hypocrisy, Alec,” she finally said, realising finally what Raphael and Magnus had meant back at the hotel.

  


“Fine, whatever, will you just  _ go _ ,” Alec said. Isabelle felt her eyes fill with tears. It was perhaps the last piece of innocence that she had clung to - that her big brother was somehow infallible. And it was torn down before her.

  


“Last year I was so proud of you, brother. Now I’m just disgusted,” she said and turned on her heel.

  


Magnus’ portal was still there, waiting for her as promised. She jumped through it and threw herself into the warlock’s arms, sobbing.

  


“Oh dear, this doesn’t seem like good news, petal,” he said, rubbing her back.

  


“Alec’s an asshole,” she sobbed. Magnus’ stroking faltered only briefly.

  


“Ah, yes, it’s one of those kinds of news. Well, this should make a for a fun night on the sofa. Tell me what the bad big brother did so I can beat him up for you,” Magnus cooed. It was infantilising, it was stupid, but Isabelle clutched onto him tightly.

  


No one else was going to help her after all.

  


*

  


“For shadowhunters you don’t seem to do a lot of shadowhunting,” Raphael commented, seeing Isabelle and Clary walk into the room like they owned it. He was tired of their demands. Perhaps he could like them as people, but he honestly couldn’t like them as shadowhunters. He was growing weary of their dependence on the vampires as well.

  


“There’s more to the job than killing demons,” Isabelle commented. Raphael quirked an eyebrow and didn’t reply. The Lightwood girl clearly forgot that was literally her  _ job description _ .

  


“We need to talk to Camille. We know you have her here. Magnus told us,” Clary said, all fake confidence and brashness despite how Raphael could hear her heart racing in fear. Raphael wondered where she got off telling him what to do. She was barely out of diapers.

  


“It’s true. But I’m afraid she’s a bit  _ tied up  _ at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, because if nothing else, he was going to be cordial about it.

  


“Just a second,” Simon reached and pulled him to one side. Raphael was starting to enjoy their little one-on-one talks less and less over the last few weeks. It seemed that Simon only pulled him aside to try to brow beat him into complying with Clary’s more and more unreasonable demands.

  


“Look, I know that this sounds crazy but we have to let them talk to Camille. She has a spellbook that could wake up Jocelyn Fairchild. Valentine might have the cup. The entire Downworld’s in danger,” Simon said and when it was put like that, it  _ almost _ sounded like a convincing point. Apart from for the fact that Raphael had a brain.

  


He needed to be leading the vampires into this war, not Camille. If he let her out, the first person she was going to come after was  _ him _ . Then there would be no alliance with the Clave  _ at all _ .

  


Nevermind the damage she could do to everyone else along the way.

  


“She’s far too dangerous,” Raphael said. Simon tried to take his hand but Raphael quickly put them in his pockets.

  


He felt out of sorts. There was something tipping his emotions off-balance again. More than just the ridiculousness of Clary’s request.

  


“Raphael, please-” Simon tried, realising Raphael wasn’t going to allow him to physically touch him.

  


“Do you remember what Camille did when she was free? To Magnus? To you? It was her fault you were attacked and Turned,” Raphael snapped, tired of dancing around issues. He was tired of Simon fighting him on every decision he made.

  


If Simon wanted to validate Fairchild’s every wish, he should just go with her.

  


“It’s not like she can kill me again,” Simon replied flippantly. Raphael forced his anger down so it wouldn’t show on his face.

  


“Can you make the same assurances for Magnus?” he asked. 

  


“She never meant to kill him in the first place,” Simon protested. Raphael wasn’t so sure about that. A love or death curse? Camille hadn’t believed in love, so therefore she had probably been aiming for death - no matter what pretty story she’d told Magnus and he’d believed.

  


“You said it yourself, if Valentine has the cup then the whole Downworld is at risk. Camille will only make things worse,” Raphael pointed out. He couldn’t even begin to process how it had all become such a clusterfuck.

  


He turned back to the shadowhunters, looking between Fairchild and the Lightwood girl for a moment.

  


“I’ll give you what’s left of Camille’s things but speaking to her is out of the question,” he said. Clary looked like she wanted to rip his face off. He guessed her respect for their alliance only held when the alliance was working and doing things for her.

  


“Her things? This isn’t the kind of book she’d have just left sitting around,” she said. Raphael shrugged.

  


“Sorry, but that’s the best I can do,” Raphael said and was about to turn away when Simon made a noise in the back of his throat.

  


“Her subjugates. Can we talk to them?” Simon asked, sounding breathless and excited, like he’d jus thought of a plan.

  


“She got rid of them all, I told you,” Raphael said, remembering how  _ that _ fight had gone last time. Simon had searched the whole hotel after that, but he’d found things as Raphael had told them. There were no subjugates still living within the Hotel Dumort.

  


“We’re supposed to be allies,” Clary tried, pouting. Raphael wondered what kind of world this little girl lived in. It wasn’t the same one as him. It wasn’t one where his every move had to be watched in case some shadowhunter somewhere got a little bit too stabby with a seraph blade.

  


“And we are. But Shadowhunters have no business messing with the Night Children’s affairs. You may look to the Clave for justice but the vampires look to me,” he tried to remind her. Clary just stared at him with wide eyes. He wasn’t Magnus or Simon or that Wayland creature though. He wasn’t going to be swayed. “Camille stays where she is.”

  


“You’re making a huge mistake,” Clary threatened, moving forward. Raphael wanted to reply something glib and smug.

  


“I agree,” Simon said before Raphael had the chance. Raphael was done with being undermined in front of the vampires by his own second-in-command and…  _ boyfriend _ .

  


“Simon-” he said warningly.

  


“No, she’s right. This  _ is _ a huge mistake. We’re not asking for the right things of each other,” Simon said, whirling on Raphael. Isabelle seemed to get what he was getting at because she suddenly spoke up.

  


“We don’t need Camille, we need her spellbook. Which means all we need to know is where she kept it. And as her advisor…” Isabelle trailed off as though he expected him to finish her sentence for her. Raphael just stared at her blankly.

  


“You’re asking me what exactly?” he asked, not liking where it was going.

  


“Camille’s secret places. Don’t tell me you don’t know where they are,” Isabelle said, disbelief etched all over her face. Raphael blinked and tried to recall.

  


“She had a property somewhere upmarket. I think maybe one of her old subjugates would possibly know where it was,” he conceded.

  


“I thought you said they were sent away,” Clary asked. Raphael rolled his eyes.

  


“They’re Darklings. They always come back to lurk around the hotel. There’s probably a couple in the neighborhood now who might know,” he said. He saw Simon shudder.

  


“You’ve got to give us more than that,” Clary tried to bully him but Raphael dug his heels in. He was  _ not _ their own personal investigation squad. The vampires were not going to be pulled into this war before they were ready, or even at all if Raphael could help it.

  


“You want me to track them down for you?” he asked sarcastically.

  


“Or wake up Camille. Your choice,” Simon said. Raphael realised that Simon was standing tall, staring him down with such an obvious ultimatum.

  


“This isn’t how I thought our relationship would play out,” Raphael said, and that hollowness had returned again. That feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, of complete and utter betrayal. Somehow, he always ended up feeling it when Simon was around Clary.

  


“Raphael, this isn’t about you and Simon,” Clary began but Raphael didn’t want to hear her stupid platitudes.

  


“We can save that discussion for later. For now, ask Luis for a list of names of Camille’s playthings. Get out into the neighborhood and you’ll find them pretty fast. Especially with a vampire to help you,” Raphael gestured at Simon dismissively. Hurt passed over Simon’s face but then Clary was moving and Raphael’s attention was pulled away.

  


“Raphael, thank you,” she said. Raphael shook his head.

  


“I don’t want to hear those words from you ever again, shadowhunter,” he growled. He was tired of it all. Tired of being pulled from pillar to post by their ridiculousness.

  


“ _ Rafa _ …” Simon tried, resting a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. Raphael gave him an incredulous look, shoving his hand away and walking away.

  


“Don’t you dare. I am beyond angry right now. I suggest you leave me alone,” he muttered over his shoulder, knowing Simon’s enhanced hearing would catch it, before slamming the door.

  


*

  


“We can’t use the Clave. They’re in turmoil and apparently there’s a warrant out for my arrest… again,” Isabelle said. She’d finally calmed herself down when Luke arrived. Raphael had hovered awkwardly behind Magnus, not knowing what to do while she sobbed.

  


When Luke had arrived and taken over, Magnus had pulled him aside and explained she was probably just overwhelmed. The lack of sleep and various other things had probably got on top of her and then the bodies, Maia, the Clave, it being her brother… There were only so many things a teenager could take.

  


Raphael couldn’t remember ever being that weak, but then he guessed he had a very different upbringing from Isabelle Lightwood. Perhaps she had been strong for so long that things had finally just become too much for her?

  


“The Clave loves a trial,” Magnus said from where he was walking in vague circles.

  


“Just wait until my father makes Inquisitor,” Isabelle replied. Raphael shuddered at the thought.

  


“What are we going to do?” Magnus asked, glancing in the direction of the corpses.

  


That was an interesting question for all of them. Magnus had warded the entire warehouse to prevent anyone getting in or out, but it was obvious that the place had been abandoned. Perhaps only a few hours ago, but still there was nothing that could tell them anything… Except the dead.

  


“We could pile up the bodies and burn them?” Isabelle suggested. Luke shook his head.

  


“And all the evidence and clues that they contain,” he pointed out. Isabelle bit her lip.

  


“We could turn it over to the NYPD,” Isabelle suggested. Luke looked like someone had stepped on his tail.

  


“Are you kidding me? This many Downworlders? They’re not going to think this is some freak blip in the system. This is essentially revealing the secret to the mundane world,” Luke said. Isabelle, however, had firmed her resolve it seemed. Whatever crying she had done had washed away any doubts she had.

  


“I’m already in trouble. I don’t know if it can get much worse, but I’m willing to try if it gets us to Simon faster,” she said. Raphael quirked an eyebrow, choosing to remain silent as long as possible. He couldn’t believe they were even having the discussion or that it had come to this in the first place.

  


“Brave, Isabelle, but foolish. This would be revealing the existence of the Downworld to an institution that, let’s be frank, doesn’t have the greatest track record with minorities,” Magnus pointed out, playing with one glittering earring.

  


“Do you think you could control the fall out?” Isabelle asked, addressing Luke directly. Luke made a vague gesture.

  


“Of the largest murder case of the decade, if not the century. I couldn’t guarantee it,” he said. Raphael finally stepped forward, looking at each of them in turn.

  


“Let’s put it to a vote, between us then,” he said.

  


“Those  _ for  _ involving the NYPD,” he said. Isabelle’s hand went up immediately. Raphael’s slowly joined her. Magnus’ and Luke’s remained down.

  


“Hung jury,” Magnus announced, looking somewhat relieved.

  


“Get the NYPD involved and accept the consequences,” a new voice called. Raphael turned and was happy to see it was just Catarina who had stepped back through Magnus’ open portal to Beth Israel.

  


“I came as soon as I could get away to check over the bodies for any living who might be there. But honestly, get the NYPD to take care of those bodies. If we have to, me and Magnus will wipe the memory of every officer in the department,” she said, looking at Magnus. The warlock didn’t look happy but he inclined his head.

  


“Not subtle, Catarina. It could get away from us before we even manage to contain it,” he said. Catarina just glared at him.

  


“No one else should die,” Catarina said and Magnus turned away, shamefaced. “Now, take me to the bodies. Let’s make sure that none of them are still there breathing.”

  


*

  


“Jace betrayed them.”

  


Well, that didn’t surprise Raphael too much. He was certain that more Circle devotees were going to come out of the woodwork over the next few days now Valentine had the Mortal Cup.

  


“Is that the one who you got me to admit I broke the Accords in order to save?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light. He was sat at his desk, a letter to Catarina half-composed before him. He’d been warning her to try to be inconspicuous with the rise of the Circle once more. It was better for her to hide and be safe than to be openly offering her services right now.

  


“Raphael…” Simon said, but he didn’t follow it up with anything.

  


Raphael, however, could feel the hollowness spilling out of his mouth.

  


“I’m sure Fairchild must be thrilled. First her boyfriend is her brother, then he’s also joined some delusional shadowhunter’s quest to rid the world of all sense and reason,” he said, standing up and reaching out for a candle to seal the wax of the letter. It was a flourish that he always enjoyed, if only because it reminded him of being a little kid and playing with the candles on the fireplace.

  


“You’re still mad at me,” Simon surmised. Raphael chuckled mirthlessly.

  


“Mad at you? Valentine has the Mortal Cup. I think that’s enough to be mad about, don’t you?” he pointed out, setting his seal into the wax.

  


“But this isn’t about that… Wait, is this about Clary?” Simon said suddenly and Raphael found Simon was touching him,  _ again _ , without permission, tugging his hand to force him around.

  


“What are you talking about?” he demanded, taking a step backwards. The backs of his thighs pressed against the desk,

  


“This is because I took Clary’s side against yours, isn’t it?” Simon said, and it was like a lightbulb going off behind his eyes. Raphael slid his eyes away.

  


“That’s not-” he protested but he realised that, deep down, it probably  _ was _ . There were logical reasons for what he did, but then there was the purely emotional one that he couldn’t figure out.

  


“Don’t lie to me, Raphael,” Simon warned, his voice low in warning. Raphael kept his gaze on the ground. He wasn’t going to give Simon the satisfaction of seeing him hurt.

  


“Oh, so now you won’t say anything instead. How stupid do you have to be to not see what is right in front of you?” Simon snapped and once again he tried to take Raphael’s hand. Raphael used his vampire strength and speed to push around Simon. He saw him stagger but he needed  _ space _ between them.

  


“I can see it perfectly fine from where I am. It’s a shame you became a Downworlder, I hear it’s much more acceptable for shadowhunters to be with mundanes nowadays,” he heard himself saying, horrified. Was this what he had become? Some jealous, over-protective-

  


“You are infuriating! I did what I did because it was the right thing to do! Not because of Clary!” Simon yelled back, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. Raphael shook his head.

  


“I’m pretty sure that she had something to do with it though,” he pointed out. “She only has to pout and you come running.”

  


“Why can’t you understand that I-” Simon slammed his mouth shut and let out a noise of frustration instead. “You know what, nevermind. You don’t care, I don’t care. This conversation is over.”

  


He stormed out.

  
It seemed there was a lot of that going about these days.

  


*

  


“Her condition is stable but we’ve had to medically induce a coma,” Catarina said. Raphael and Isabelle had left Luke to deal with the NYPD as reporting officer. Magnus had gone to have a discussion with his boyfriend. 

  


They were stood in a cramped broom closet of Beth Israel hospital so Catarina could fill them in. She looked almost periwinkle blue with how pale she was.

  


“Why?” Raphael asked. Surely with her werewolf healing, Maia would be better in no time?

  


“She’s got a whole lot going on and for some reason she’s just not healing like she should. I think there might be something wrong in her brain, something that’s blocking her ability to heal,” Catarina said, leaning back on the door and closing her eyes.

  


“Until I can figure out what’s wrong and fix it, it’s better to keep her under. She won’t experience pain that way, and she can’t further injure herself,” she continued. Raphael rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

  


“Catarina, we need to be able to talk to her,” he said, already knowing what the answer was going to be. They had a mountain of bodies and no answers. Maia was the only one who could possibly tell them what was happening.

  


“I’m sorry, Raphael. You can’t,” Catarina said, pushing herself off the door.

  


“Whoever did this to her also has Simon. I have to know where he is. Any information she could give us-” he began but Catarina shook her head firmly.

  


“It would be against every oath I’ve taken as a medical practitioner to awaken her when her pain is this great. You wouldn’t get an answer out of her that wasn’t her screaming for some higher power,” she said, her voice level and brokering no argument. 

  


“We have to try!” That was Isabelle, her voice frazzled from tiredness and stress.

  


“I said no and it’s my final answer. You’ll have to do something else instead. Maia is off-limits until I can get her better,” Catarina said, making a chopping motion with her hand.

  


“We’re supposed to be friends,” Raphael pointed out. Catarina narrowed her eyes at him.

  


“And we are. But what you’re asking is to put a young woman through incredible trauma. As her doctor, I can’t allow it,” she said. 

  


“If Simon dies-”

  


“Then it will have been because of the people who killed him, not because I stopped you from torturing some poor girl who has already been through enough,” Catarina seemed to have finally had enough. She clicked her fingers, pulling up a portal. 

  


“You had better leave. It’s nearly sunrise,” she said and then slipped out of the broom closet without a backward glance.

  


*

  


“I, er, brought you some coffee. It’s blood coffee. It’s actually pretty good. We’ve been working on the new flavors and-” Simon was rambling. Raphael didn’t look up from his desk, a letter from the Council on it informing him that Valentine had the Mortal Cup and for the vampires to hold tight for a while.

  


“Yeah, I’ll just leave it here and-” Simon went to put the mug of coffee on the desk but he wasn’t watching what he was doing and put it down on top of Raphael’s pen, causing it to overspill. Raphael felt the hot blood, strained through coffee grounds, seeping into the sleeve of his jacket. “Oh shit! Oh god I’m sorry!”

  


“I liked that jacket,” he said, shrugging it off and throwing it to one side. Simon’s face was a picture of horror.

  


“I promise you I’ll buy you another one! Really, like, a  _ really _ ,  _ really _ nice one,” he promised.

  


“Save it, there’s no point,” Raphael said, turning back to the letter in front of him. He had no energy left to waste on Simon today, not with all things considered.

  


“Should I leave?” Simon asked. Raphael shrugged.

  


“Do you want to?” he replied.

  


“No,” Simon said. Raphael’s shoulders hunched slightly. He’d thought Simon would just take the hint and go.

  


“Then do what you want. I don’t care,” he said. Simon didn’t even let Raphael finish speaking before he stepped forward.

  


“Raphael… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did all those things. I just wanted to do what I felt was right, even if it meant that we didn’t agree. I thought…” he trailed away. Raphael looked up from his desk.

  


“You thought…?” he prompted when it was clear that Simon wasn’t going to continue on his own. Simon was breathing strangely. Raphael got to his feet and was rubbing Simon’s back before he could even think of it. He’d never seen a vampire have an anxiety attack before, but he was pretty sure that these were the first symptoms. Even without needing to breathe, it seemed the brain had tricked Simon’s body into thinking it needed oxygen.

  


“I thought you had faith in me. I thought that meant that you’d trust me to make decisions that wouldn’t endanger us,” Simon said, gasping to get his words out. Raphael kept his hands rubbing gently across Simon’s shoulders.

  


“You’re still new to this game, Simon. You don’t understand what’s at stake when shadowhunters come here making those demands of us,” he said, trying to keep his tone calm when he felt anything but it. Simon looked at him, hazel eyes filled with pain and worry that made Raphael feel like scum.

  


“You’re right. I don’t. And in any other circumstances, I would have listened to you, but I couldn’t let Clary suffer. She’s my oldest friend,” he said and Raphael’s hand stilled on Simon’s back. He couldn’t look away from Simon’s eyes.

  


“You love her,” he said quietly. Simon didn’t look away.

  


“Yes, but it’s not like that. It’s a different kind of love,” he confirmed. Raphael swallowed.

  


“You never loved her that way?” he asked. Simon took a deep breath, his hands making fists at his sides.

  


“I… No, I did. I used to. Before, y’know, the Shadow World came up and then Magnus’ curse and everything got turned upside down. But I don’t anymore,” he said. Raphael brought his hand up to the back of Simon’s neck, resting it against the exposed flesh there.

  


“I don’t know what to believe,” he admitted, feeling lost. Simon reached up a shaking hand and wrapped it around Raphael’s wrist. He waited for Raphael to look him in the eye again before he took a shuddering breath.

  


“I love you, Raphael,” he said. “The romantic love. The kind that means I want to be with  _ you _ that way. More than  _ anything _ .”

  


Raphael had no idea what to say, what to do. No one had ever said something like that to him before. No one that had mattered, in any case. And here was Simon, shaking, hurting,  _ beautiful _ , saying those words with such conviction even though he seemed seconds away from curling into a ball and hiding.

  


Simon suddenly jerked away, his breathing turning even more ragged.

  


“Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was wrong. We’d decided not to use those words and there I go just blabbing on and saying whatever it is that comes to mind and-” he babbled and Raphael realised he really should have  _ said _ something and not just stood there, thunderstruck.

  


“We decided nothing. You assumed,” he said. Simon wouldn’t look at him.

  


“So it’s okay?” Simon asked. Raphael closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Simon and holding him as close as he could. He could feel the way the other was jittering against him now.

  


“That you love me? Yeah, it’s okay,” he said, resting the side of his face against Simon’s own. Simon tried to relax into his arms.

  


They hadn’t really sorted out the issue, Raphael realised. Simon would probably still continue to bend over backwards for the shadowhunters regardless of Raphael’s own personal desires to the contrary, despite the position it put the vampires in, but that was an argument for another day.

  


He pulled away, resting a hand against Simon’s face and drinking in the sight of him. Quivering and nervous, tears gathered in the corner of his eyes, Simon was still  _ here _ . Still  _ his _ .

  


Raphael didn’t know what it meant to be so happy about that, he didn’t want to put words to it yet. Simon had always been the one to come up with the words for him, but this time it seemed Simon was all out of them.

  


But it could wait. They had time to figure things out. They had eternity.

  


He kissed Simon’s forehead and pulled him close again.

  


*

  


“Oh so how many would have been a large enough number for you to damn the consequences and lead a revolution?”

  


Raphael paused just inside the door to Magnus’ apartment. Isabelle was next to him. She couldn’t stay at the Hotel Dumort. It didn’t have the wards that Magnus had. She needed more protection than Raphael could offer with the Hotel being virtually open to any werewolf or vampire who wandered in right now.

  


It sounded like they’d arrived in the middle of an explosive argument between Alec and Magnus though.

  


“You know it’s not about the numbers, Magnus! Just listen-” Alec’s voice was tinny. It was coming from a phone speaker, Raphael realised. Isabelle probably couldn’t hear it yet, though she had probably already guessed. They both shifted awkwardly at the door.

  


“No. You listen to me. Tell the Clave, get every shadowhunter you have spare on this case or don’t bother to come home,” Magnus threatened. Raphael was impressed. He hadn’t thought that Magnus would take a stand like that.

  


“You don’t understand. We can’t fight a war against the Circle and then a war against the establishment at the same time!” Alec sounded frustrated. Magnus growled under his breath. Raphael couldn’t see him still, but he could imagine him pacing, alcohol in hand.

  


“My beautiful Alexander, I love you dearly but you’re not welcome here until you start standing up for us. I hope that you understand,” Magnus’ voice barely contained his anger.

  


“Magnus-”

  


There was a beep as Magnus hung up. Raphael nodded to Isabelle and walked into the apartment.

  


“I’m going to take my old room seeing as it’s nearly sunrise. Can Isabelle just sleep with you for now?” Raphael asked, not even bothering with greetings or niceties. Magnus didn’t look surprised to see them, but he did look tired. He gave Isabelle a small smile though.

  


“Of course. Isabelle, take the bed. I am more than happy on the couch for now. Raphael, make sure to black out the windows,” he said, sagging into the sofa.

  


Raphael wished he had some words of comfort to offer but he didn’t. It seemed Isabelle didn’t either because she just slipped into Magnus’ bedroom with a yawn.

  


“We are dying in record numbers and not even my own boyfriend will listen,” Magnus said. Raphael rested a hand on Magnus’ shoulder.

  


“We haven’t exhausted every possibility yet. There’s still the Fairchilds. Luke might be able to get them to help us,” he reminded him. Magnus nodded.

  


“The future hasn’t been decided yet,” he said, and it sounded like a mantra. Raphael shrugged.

  


“Whatever lets you sleep better,” he said. Magnus smiled and patted Raphael’s hand.

  


“Go to bed Raphael. We’re only about ten minutes away from this room being flooded with sunlight,” he said. Raphael nodded and walked into the spare room.

  


He busied himself blocking up the windows and the cracks around the door and lay down on the spare bed. The silence ate at him. Images of naked, abused bodies lurked behind his eyelids.

  


He did something he hadn’t done since he was fifteen.

  


_ “Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo, _ ” he began, closing his eyes and whispering it to himself until the images of bodies were gone, replaced only with the repetitive words of the Lord’s prayer.

  


*

  


_ With Maia out of our reach, Downworlder bodies piling up in the morgue, no concrete leads left and the Clave on our backs, it seemed like everything was against us. _

  


_ We needed time to regroup, to get our thoughts in order, to make sure we knew where we were going and what we were doing. But every second we spent doing that, I became more and more convinced that even though I hadn’t feel Simon die, that he might be in a similar pit somewhere, just ash and dust sprinkling the corpse of a werewolf or a seelie. _

  


_ It made me realise. _

  


_ I needed Simon. I needed him far more than he had ever needed me. He had chosen to be with me but it wasn’t a choice for me. _

  


_ It was a necessity. _

  


_ I  _ needed _ him. _

  


_ I’d beat up drug dealers, wipe the memories of every member of the NYPD, fight off the Clave, make alliances with every creature of land and sea. _

  


_ But I was going to  _ find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has messaged me and left me comments for this fic! It means a lot to know what people are liking and not feeling entirely comfortable with! I take every comment on board, and trust me it does make it into the edits or makes me question things so please keep them coming!
> 
> The official timeline of events is [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/18_VXNtleIoyQZXUEB8exp2EzqwDiHsCbqDqsc5Pi_qo/edit?usp=sharing).


	9. Chiaroscuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I still have faith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chiaroscuro (noun)  
> the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting.  
> an effect of contrasted light and shadow.
> 
> irony (noun)  
> the expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite, typically for humorous or emphatic effect.  
> a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often wryly amusing as a result.  
> plural noun: ironies  
> a literary technique, originally used in Greek tragedy, by which the full significance of a character's words or actions is clear to the audience or reader although unknown to the character.

Luke clapped his hands together, gathering their attention. Magnus was still wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Raphael thought he’d heard him up and about during the day, but he looked exhausted now. Books and notes were scattered across nearly every surface, though Raphael couldn’t read any of what was written.

 

“I managed to get us some time in the morgue. The doctor who works there owes me a favour,” Luke said, looking pleased. Raphael nodded wordlessly. Isabelle, hearing a new voice walked out of Magnus’ room. She was still in the same clothes as the night before, her hair pulled into a ponytail, her make-up smeared around her eyes.

 

“Don’t everyone cheer at once,” Luke said. Raphael rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

 

“Look, I know that things are really bad, but this could be the answers we were looking for,” Luke said gently. Raphael sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The wax he used to keep it slicked back had come out and it was starting to curl around his ears.

 

“Let me shower,” Isabelle said and disappeared into the bathroom.

 

The phone rang. Magnus let it go through to answer machine.

 

“Magnus, I’m sorry, okay? Pick up the phone. I need to talk to you. It’s really important. You’ve got to understand. Shit, I’ve got to go,” Alec’s voice went through the apartment. Luke looked at Raphael, who shrugged. Magnus didn’t even look up from his notes.

 

The phone rang again.

 

“Alright, it was a false alarm. I thought it was Lydia but it was just Church trying to get in. Magnus, there’s some real serious shit going down here right now. You need to ward your apartment, alright? Big wards. The kind of wards that the Institute has. Keeping out  _ Valentine _ style wards, okay?” Alec said. Raphael felt a shiver go down his spine.

 

Magnus did look up at that and sighed, getting to his feet.

 

“I’ll ward the place to accept you guys back in when you’re done,” he said, stretching. Raphael could hear his spine cracking all the way down. He must have been pouring over those texts for hours.

 

“Ready,” Isabelle said, stepping out of the bathroom. Fresh-faced, her hair clean, she looked a lot more healthy and awake. Raphael realised this was the first time he’d ever seen her without makeup on. She looked different. Somehow younger. More vulnerable.

 

“The three of us will go then. Magnus, we’ll leave you to ward this place,” Luke said. Magnus yawned.

 

“Sure. Catarina and I contacted as many warlocks on the East Coast as I could. We’ll be by in a few hours or so to start wiping memories,” he said. Luke nodded.

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I owe you big time.”

 

“I have my eye on your antique book collection,” Magnus replied. Luke looked like he’d rather give up anything than his books, but he didn’t say anything.

 

Luke drove them to the precinct. Isabelle sat shotgun, lazily twirling her stele between her fingers. Raphael lounged across the back. He felt calmer than he had the day before. They might have answers by the end of the night, they might have leads.

 

They might have even found Simon.

 

Luke pulled into the parking lot and got out. He pinned false visitor passes onto their shirts, looking stern.

“I’m asking you, please, just try to keep your questions and observations limited, alright?” he said. Isabelle nodded and Raphael let out a grunt.

 

The precinct was in chaos. Raphael could see photographs of the bodies everywhere. A map was sprawled across one sergeant’s desk with pins in it from at least fifteen different states. The phones were ringing off the hook. It was relatively easy for them to slip through without so much as a second glance.

 

Luke pulled them down towards the basement. It was quieter down in the lower corridors and Raphael could finally hear himself think once more.

 

The door to the autopsy room had a sign written on it in thick black pen that merely read:  _ UNLESS YOU ARE DELIVERING COFFEE - STAY OUT. WHEN I HAVE THE REPORT YOU’LL KNOW. _

Luke pushed open the door. The morgue was full of bodies. Every single surface had a corpse sprawled out on it. It seemed like whoever had laid them out had managed to start distinguishing between the races of Downworlders from the way they were grouped.

 

In the center of the room, in a white lab coat, stood an Asian woman with long, curly black hair pulled up into a tight bun at the back of her head. A mask covered the bottom half of her face and her eyes were hidden by goggles. When she heard the door though, she turned, pulling off the mask with a huff.

 

“Oh, so the hero returns to take a look at this mess, huh?” she demanded, discarding the glasses to reveal tired looking brown eyes. Her mouth was a thin line.

“Er-“ Luke said eloquently.

“Who are they?” she demanded and took off her latex gloves. They were coated in some kind of goo and Raphael didn’t want to think about what it might be.

“Witnesses from the neighbourhoods where people have recently gone missing. I was hoping that they’d be able to recognise some of the bodies. Help us identify them,” Luke said. The pathologist looked both Raphael and Isabelle up and down before she gestured to a corner.

“Well, you can start with those two over there. They’ve got the same gang tattoos as that one,” she said, and Raphael guessed she meant Isabelle.

 

Not needing to be told twice, the two of them quickly walked over to the bodies. Sure enough, there were two bodies that had runes carved up their arms and necks, no doubt the rest of their body too. Isabelle used her stele to tilt their heads to one side.

“Circle members,” she said when the circle rune on their neck was revealed. “That would explain why the Clave hasn’t reported anyone missing and seems unconcerned.”

“Whoever did this is killing Circle members too? Could it be the Clave?” Raphael asked. Isabelle thought about it for a moment, and he realised that seeing the warehouse and being refused help  the night before had truly made her realise that it wasn’t as unlikely as it sounded.

“It can’t be. The Clave are fighting on behalf of the Accords. Why would they wipe out Downworlders?” she said finally. Raphael sucked his teeth.

“And yet they wouldn’t help us investigate it. There’s evidence of them killing Valentine’s men and-“ he replied, trying to convince her. At that moment he became aware that the pathologist was exceptionally close to him though and dropped the subject.

“Are you two done whispering over there? Do you know who they are?” she asked. Isabelle took a step away.

“No. I’m sorry. They must be part of a different chapter of the gang,” she said. The pathologist looked unconvinced. Behind her Luke was hovering, looking rather like a naughty school boy who had got caught.

“Yeah whatever. You, Pretty Boy, see anyone else you recognise?” she asked and Raphael realised she was talking to  _ him _ . He glanced around but honestly, there was not a single face he knew. He glanced at Luke, hoping that the werewolf would step in.

 

The pathologist, whose name card read ‘Kim Jang-Mi’, threw her hands up in the air.

“Alright, I can’t keep it in any longer. You know that these things aren’t human right? They’re about as closely related to humans as bonobos or chimps,” she said. Raphael knew it was his time to bow out of the conversation. He wasn’t about to argue science when Isabelle and Luke would be much more capable of it.

“What are you talking about?” Luke asked, feigning surprise. Isabelle’s expression was carefully neutral.

“Well, either these guys were in some kind of body modification cult or they have a unique genetic mutation that gives them pointy ears,” Jang Mi-pointed to a dead Seelie. “Not to mention the fact that when I ran their DNA through the system it came back that the DNA I was running wasn’t human and had no close matches amongst the animal kingdom.”

“Contaminated samples?” Luke suggested. Jang-Mi smiled at him and Raphael recognised that smile. Guadalupe, God Rest Her Soul, had smiled like that before she hit his brothers around the ears for taking the Lord’s name in vain. Isabelle wore that smile before she landed her heeled boot in the crotch of a cat caller. It was a smile that Raphael had learned over the years to fear.

“Oh sure, let’s go with that. What about this guy over here?” Jang-Mi didn’t have to walk far to get to another new body. “His DNA came back as ‘canine’. And those ones over there? Their closest relatives are apparently a very specific type of seaweed only found on the coast of Wales.”

“So you’re saying that your machine is broken?” Isabelle asked. Jang-Mi’s smile became even more pointed.

“Not to mention that every single body was pretty much coated with burned human remains. Like they’d taken a shower in ashes,” she said. Raphael’s throat went tight. Vampires. There had been vampires amongst the remains and they’d never be able to identify them.

“Well, I guess that’s-“ Luke began but Jang-Mi spun on her heel, lab coat swishing, and jabbed him in the chest.

“I am expecting the men in the black suits to roll in any minute and tell me either I’ve discovered aliens or put a bullet in me for finding some horrific government experiment. So tell me, Luke, just what am I dealing with here?” she demanded. Luke looked like he had no idea what to tell her. Isabelle stood silent at his side, the Accords preventing her from saying anything.

 

Raphael realised it would be up to  _ him _ to get the information they needed.

“Werewolves, warlocks, fairies, I guess those would be merpeople,” he said, because somehow he knew the truth was the only way out of it. “And the ashes – that would be the vampires.”

 

Jang-Mi turned to him, looking him up and down. He knew he must look a mess. His suit was creased and disheveled. His hair was hanging down around his face instead of styled. But he drew himself up, meeting her eyes.

“Fairies. Vampires,” Jang-Mi repeated, searching his face. “You aren’t joking.”

“I only wish I were,” he said. She shook her head in disbelief, though he could see in her eyes that she already half-believed him.

“So what are you? Puck?” she asked sarcastically. Raphael ignored the slur. He was far from an elf.

“My name is Raphael Santiago. I’m the leader of the East Harlem vampires,” he said and forced a smirk that bared his fangs. Jang-Mi stared at him.

“Of course there’s vampires in East Harlem. You’re telling me the mermaids are from the Hudson?” she asked and he could tell she just was looking for more evidence it was true, that it was real. A true scientist.

“I hope not. That would be beyond gross,” Isabelle chipped in. Jang-Mi looked at her as though she were trying to work out just what she was as well.

“Have you submitted the report yet?” Luke asked, stepping back into the conversation in the lull that the revelation had brought.

“No. I was sitting on it. I couldn’t face submitting something so insane,” Jang-Mi admitted.

 

“I’d suggest you leave out anything that doesn’t make sense,” Raphael advised. Jang-Mi’s eyes narrowed.

 

“You’re asking me to falsify a report? Do you have any idea the position you’ve put me in? And besides, the amount of officers that brought these bodies in? The amount of detectives on this case? The amount of press swarming around this case? You’re never going to keep it a secret,” she said, turning to Luke in exasperation as though he would support her.

 

“We’re going to wipe the memories of everyone in here and recreate a memory of them catching the killers,” Luke said. Jang-Mi’s mouth fell open.

 

“But the killer won’t have really been caught, will he?” she pointed out. Raphael admired her. She had just had her world completely changed, and yet she was accepting it, taking it in her stride and adapting her morals to it.

 

“No. Whoever it is will still be free,” Raphael admitted. She rounded on him.

 

“So you’d rather protect your secrets than your people?” Jung-Mi demanded. Raphael’s smirk was real this time.

 

“We are talking about protecting the lives of millions either way,” he said. Jung-Mi rubbed her forehead.

 

“I didn’t even question that you could wipe memories,” she muttered to herself, rubbing at the worry lines across her forehead. Luke rested a hand on her shoulder.

 

“Can we see the reports you wrote?” he asked. Jung-Mi dropped her hand and nodded.

 

“Only if you promise not to wipe my memories and explain everything to me,” she said. Luke glanced at Raphael and Isabelle.

 

“Even if we promise that, we can still wipe your memories and you’d never know,” Raphael warned her. She met his eyes and raised her chin.

 

“You seem like a man of your word,” she said. Raphael looked at Luke with a shrug.

 

“Fine,” Luke agreed. “Two people will come here in about thirty minutes. Catarina Loss and Magnus Bane. Let them in and make sure they get access to everyone in the building who has been anywhere near this case.”

 

“And the press?” Jung-Mi asked, folding her arms.

 

“Will be told a story by the higher ups that they’ll believe,” Luke said. “And the conspiracy theorists will have a field day with it but no one will believe them because they’ll also be talking about Lizard Men running the government and UFOs in government bases.”

 

“There aren’t really Lizard people running the government, right?” Jung-Mi asked. Luke smiled.

 

“Not that I’m aware of,” he reassured her.

 

“Just making sure. Why did you even let us take the bodies in the first place?” she asked.

 

“We needed the lab work done,” Isabelle replied. “Our labs couldn’t… handle this many.”

 

“Alright then. I’ll tell you what I know. You tell me what you know,” Jung-Mi dropped her arms and gestured for them to come closer to the body she’d been working on. It was gruesome looking the way she’d pulled the body apart, but Raphael forced himself not to look away.

 

“All of them died of the same thing. There’s an incredible amount of scar tissue in their brains. To me, it looks like they had some kind of brain cancer,” Jung-Mi said. Luke frowned.

 

“Vampires don’t get cancer and there’s evidence of vampire deaths all over here,” he said, gesturing to the dust all over the skin of the dead werewolf.

 

“You’re right, it isn’t cancer. I can only say what it looks like. Incisions had been made in some of their brains. In others, it seems like the growths were an organic mass that grew like mold,” she said. Raphael grimaced.

 

“Their brains got… moldy?” Isabelle asked, sounding bewildered.

 

“That not a normal disease for you people?” Jung-Mi clarified.

 

“No,” Raphael said firmly.

 

“Well, anyway, the brain tissue damage is present in all the bodies. The facial deformities - I’m assuming that those are not what these people are born with in any case - and physical reactions on their skin also seem to be made of the same stuff that attacked their brain and central nervous system,” she gestured to the strange protrusions that had grown from the werewolf’s joints and face.

 

“You know of any diseases that affect humans this way?” Luke asked. Jung-Mi gave him an amused look.

 

“Are we talking about horror movies, or real life?” she asked. “Because I’m not sure which one I’m in right now.”

 

When she didn’t get the laugh she had been expecting, she turned back to the body.

 

“Look, there is nothing like this on record that I can think of. I’ve seen some pretty fucked up diseases that have killed people in interesting ways, but this… This is beyond me. If I could perhaps find one of them still living, I would have a better chance at diagnosis, if that’s what you’re after. But honestly, an autopsy will just tell you what killed them. And that is the brain damage,” she said. Raphael swallowed.

 

“We have someone who lived,” he said. Luke gave him a sharp look.

 

“There’s a survivor?” Jung-Mi latched onto what he said, her expression curious.

 

“Yes, at the Beth Israel. One of the memory people who is coming is looking after her there,” he explained. Isabelle elbowed him in the ribs hard but Raphael ignored it. They needed  _ answers _ , not guesses.

 

“If I could take some samples from her, compare it to what I’ve got here, I might be able to say for sure what caused this,” Jung-Mi mused.

 

“Why are you helping us?” Raphael asked. Jung-Mi hugged herself as she mulled over her answer.

 

“Because I have more bodies in my morgue than there are officers in this building, that’s why. Human or not, something tells me that these were all people with personalities and families and whatever. I want to help,” she said finally. Raphael turned to Luke, whose expression had softened somewhat.

 

“Luke, you trust her?” he asked. Luke nodded.

 

“I do,” he confirmed.

 

“It’s going to be hard to be the only one who remembers,” Raphael said. Jung-Mi looked around the room for a moment, her expression grim.

 

“I’ve lived with worse,” she said. Raphael believed her.

 

*

 

Raphael’s phone buzzed across the table. He’d been awake barely fifteen minutes and was barely functioning. In truth, the only reason he was awake before sundown was because Simon had snuck in… again.

It had become almost a habit, and though Raphael couldn’t quite work out the Mundane’s motive, he had to admit that it wasn’t as unwelcome as it might once have been. He had already been to confession and tried to absolve himself of the guilt he felt on that. A good Catholic boy didn’t have those feelings for another male, but it really was no good and he wasn’t much of a Catholic anymore in any case.

It was another sin on top of a pile of them, but it was one he felt at least a little more okay with. Especially when Simon’s eyes slid over to him when the Mundane thought he wasn’t looking. Sometimes he thought he could see that Simon liked him in that way too.

 

It made him somewhat uneasy. The unfamiliar bond that was growing between them that he had no experience of, no point of reference for. It was something stronger than friendship, there was something to it that was not like the other bonds he’d had. He almost wanted to explore it.

But then he remembered that Simon could easily become a subjugate or would age and die and leave him alone and that none of it was worth the risk.

“You gonna answer it?” Simon asked. Raphael snagged his phone from the table top with a groan and answered it.

“Raphael Santiago,” he said curtly.

“Ah, Raphael. Glad you’re awake already!”

“Bane,” Raphael groaned. Simon, who had been slowly shuffling a deck of cards for them to play Blackjack looked up, curiously. “Are you dying? Have you been attacked by a dragon? Have the fairies come and stolen all your clothes? Why are you calling me?”

Magnus chuckled. “Nothing so drastic, my friend. Ragnor merely wished for me to invite you to my party tonight. You know how he loves your company.”

“Party…” Raphael repeated dumbly. Simon was putting the cards down now, unashamedly listening into the conversation. “What party?”

“Oh, just a little gathering, y’know how it is,” Magnus replied. “You don’t see people for a few centuries and then you suddenly remember what good friends you were and you just need to hold a reunion or-”

“Alright. Whatever. What time?” Raphael asked, glancing at his watch.

“Oh about eight should be fine. I’m sure it’ll rage all night,” Magnus replied breezily. “You can invite whatever well-behaved vampire you want. Apart from the obvious one who is not to be invited, for obvious reasons, obviously.”

Magnus sounded ridiculously cheerful. Raphael grimaced. Hopefully cheer wasn’t contagious.

“Whatever, Magnus. See you after eight,” Raphael replied and hung up as fast as he could. He was about to make a scathing comment about how stupid Magnus’ parties always were when he saw it, a long-fingered, elegant hand landing on Simon’s head almost affectionately.

“Magnus is holding a party?”

Camille was virtually draped on Simon. Raphael saw the Mundane go very still, as his eyes widening as he realised that Camille was very much awake and almost on top of him.

“It seems that way, yes,” Raphael replied, but he was watching Camille carefully. It had been enough time for the vampire blood to have worn off in Simon’s system if Camille did get a little bitey, but he didn’t want to take that chance.

He should have insisted that they meet at Taki’s instead of here. He should have been stronger about it.

“Well, it seems like I’m suddenly going out tonight,” Camille said, letting Simon go and walking around him. Simon had frozen like a rabbit in the headlamps and Raphael quickly moved to put himself between Camille and her prey. She gave him an amused glance.

“I don’t think you’re invited,” he pointed out. Camille gave him a sullen look.

“Oh, but Cinderella must go to the ball,” she replied and smiled, elongated teeth on display. Raphael ground his teeth. Of all the rotten timing.

Camille gave him a long, slow smirk. “Oh and Raphael, if you’re going to be keeping this Mundane around much longer, you should probably put a collar on him. Wouldn’t want anyone to think that he’s free for anyone to take a nibble on, would we?” She then slunk away.

Raphael watched her go, a sinking sensation in his gut.

“Raphael… what she just said… About Cinderella going to the ball. You don’t think…” Simon trailed off. His voice was still high-pitched from adrenaline, but Raphael could tell where his mind was going.

“You think it’s the curse?” Raphael asked. Simon nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose. Raphael realised that when Camille had been close to him, he’d started to sweat. It had been so long since Simon had been wary around him, he had forgotten that Simon had a healthy fear of vampires.

“If that’s the case, we had better go and run interference tonight,” Raphael said, getting to his feet and running a hand down the arm of his suit, assessing it for suitability for a party. Simon looked slightly pink.

“Er, ‘we’?” He repeated. Raphael cursed his slip of the tongue. He had just assumed that Simon would be coming with him.

“Well, if you’d rather stay here?” Raphael asked, trying to backtrack. Simon was looking at him now with an expression that Raphael couldn’t read at all. He pretended to be concerned with straightening out his suit and hoped that Simon couldn’t tell he was flustered. He was lucky that his heart had long since stopped beating and so it couldn’t thud awkwardly in his chest.

“I’ll go… I’m going to need to borrow clothes though,” Simon said. Raphael glanced at him. Simon was watching him and he squared his shoulders back under that gaze.

“Ruin my jacket and I’ll ruin you,” he threatened. Simon gave him a grin.

“Promise, I’m not intending to do anything to your beloved jacket other than dance awkwardly in it,” Simon promised. Raphael felt his stomach clench a little at the thought, but shoved the feeling down. Hard.

“Right. Follow me,” he said, gesturing for Simon to follow him into a part of the Hotel DuMort that he had not been into yet. Simon followed, keeping close enough to Raphael’s back that he could almost feel the Mundane’s breath against his skin.

Finally they reached the room where Raphael usually ‘slept’. Simon seemed transfixed by the coffin in the center of the room, though Raphael ignored it. Instead he walked to his wardrobe, assessing what he had there and what might fit Simon.

“You know, it’s really gloomy in here,” Simon said. Raphael turned to him, eyebrow raised.

“You were expecting posters of One Direction and fairy lights?” He asked sarcastically. Simon rolled his eyes.

“No, but I was expecting some evidence that… that this place belonged to someone. It’s like an art exhibit. Doesn’t feel lived in,” Simon commented. Raphael forced down a surge of annoyance.

“Apologies that my room isn’t to your liking . It’s not like you have to live in it,” he snapped. Simon held up his hands in apology.

“It’s fine. I mean, not to my tastes, but if you like it, it’s fine I guess,” Simon rambled. Raphael turned back to the suits and found one made of a black faux-brocade that was perfect. He unhooked it, finding a matching black shirt and holding it out. Simon took it almost hesitantly.

“What is it with you Shadow World people and wearing head-to-toe black? Seems like Magnus is the only one who appreciates a bit of color,” Simon mused. Raphael growled and grabbed the black shirt back, shoving it into his closet and pulling out a shirt that was a deep teal instead.

“There, better?” He demanded. Simon smiled at him.

“Loads,” he said and before Raphael could turn away, Simon was already kicking off his shoes. Raphael knew he should look away, knew that he was testing every ounce of restraint he had if he watched this. Ever since he’d tasted Simon’s blood, he’d felt the obsession coming and going and now, in front of him, was something he had thought he would never see. His own reactions to it both terrified him and intrigued him.

Simon was apparently oblivious as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He was pale, his nerd-life clearly meaning he stayed out of the sun. Skinny too, not muscled. He looked weak, even though Raphael knew that there was a wiry strength to him that could catch a much stronger man unaware.

Simon turned to shrug on the shirt, starting to do up the buttons. It was then that Raphael heard it.

The whole time he thought that Simon had been doing everything innocently, unaware of the effect he had. But he caught the sound from across the room. The rapid thump of Simon’s heart. He could smell the blood racing around Simon’s body, rising to the skin slightly as the other blushed when he realised he was looking.

Simon hadn’t innocently thought he was getting changed in front of a friend.

He had done it on purpose to goad him.

Well, two could play at that game. Raphael might not be sure of what was going on, his own feelings, his own emotions, but he couldn’t ignore a challenge when it was issued so shamelessly.

Raphael closed the distance between them faster than he knew Simon’s eyes could keep up with. Simon’s breath caught when he was close enough and Raphael reached out, finishing the last few buttons. He flicked out his own wrists, removing his own cufflinks before grasping Simon’s wrists, sliding them into the Mundane’s shirt.

Simon looked like he was about to combust.

Raphael let his tongue run along his lower lip and watched Simon’s eyes follow it.

So he wasn’t alone in this newfound whatever then.

He took a step back, walking to his dresser and opening the drawer to find some more cufflinks for himself. He could hear Simon breathing hard behind him. There was the sound of more fabric rustling, then the sound of a zipper.

Raphael didn’t turn. Instead he watched in the mirror until Simon was fully clothed and running a hand awkwardly through his hair. Clearly, his courage was all spent.

Well that was just fine.

There were rituals for everything. Even this. Despite the guilt, despite the niggling feeling that it was wrong, that he couldn’t do this, Raphael felt an excitement flutter down his spine.

“We have about twenty minutes until sundown. You should go get some fast food. You probably shouldn’t eat anything at Magnus’. Knowing you, you’ll accidentally eat fairy food,” Raphael said. Simon seemed still slightly spaced out, but he nodded. He began to walk to the door and he paused when he hand was on the doorknob.

“Can you walk me to the door? I don’t want to run into Camille again,” Simon said. Raphael nodded, walking to Simon’s side and putting a hand on the small of his back. The placement was completely appropriate but now that he was listening for it, he heard the way Simon’s pulse jumped at his touch.

“After you,” he said, opening the door and, with light pressure, leading Simon out.

 

*

 

“Well, there’s a small army of warlocks who answered the call,” Magnus said, looking around at the motley crew he’d managed to assemble at such short notice. Many of them ran amongst the younger, less powerful and unknown, but beggars could hardly be choosers in this situation.

 

“No one wants it to get out,” Catarina said, stepping to his side. “And people want to do something. Some of the people here have friends missing.”

 

“Indeed. No one also wants to end up the next one on the slab,” Magnus replied. Catarina’s eyes were wet with tears. Magnus guessed that this was affecting her more than she had let Raphael know.

 

“The Downworld is in chaos. People are starting to flee the city,” she said, her voice low. Magnus put his arm around her shoulders.

 

“Can you blame them? Come on, we need get started,” he said, stepping into the precinct. Luke had called ahead to say that he’d got a contact who was going to help them once they were inside the precinct and Magnus looked around for the contact.

 

A woman approached them in a suit that had seen better days. Korean, if Magnus wasn’t wrong, and tired looking.

 

“I’m Doctor Jung-Mi Kim. I’m going to be helping you,” she said, offering her hand. Magnus shook it.

 

“A mundane?” Catarina asked. Jung-Mi didn’t seem to know what that meant but she took it in her stride.

 

“I’m the Chief Medical Examiner at the precinct. And I’m also not having my memory wiped. At least not until whoever did this is caught,” she said as though she dared them to argue. Magnus had no intention of taking her on. He had enough to deal with, without pissing off their only ally in what was bound to be an exhausting task.

 

“We have over twenty warlocks here who are prepared to help. Direct them where to go,” he said. Jung-Mi smiled.

 

“Certainly,” she said and handed Magnus a list. There were easily three hundred names on the list. Magnus felt tired just looking at it.

 

“You are Catarina Loss?” Jung-Mi said, offering her hand to Catarina. Magnus saw Catarina blink, surprised, before taking the hand offered to her.

 

“I was told there’s a young woman in your care who may have whatever it is that killed all those… people. I’d like to be able to run some tests on her, see if I can find out just what it is that is killing your people,” Jung-Mi said. Catarina tensed.

 

“Maia is in a coma right now, she can’t consent to any testing,” she said. Jung-Mi’s smile was understanding.

 

“Her alpha consented in her stead,” she said. Catarina didn’t look happy about it but she nodded her head.

 

“Then do whatever you must, as long as she stays under,” she said. Jung-Mi’s mouth pulled downwards at the corners.

 

“Trust me, looking at the state of those brains, I won’t be trying to wake her up any time soon,” she said before looking at Magnus. “Are you ready, Mr Bane? Let’s get started.”

 

*

 

“The person who was obviously not invited is very clearly here,” Magnus hissed, leaning against the wall beside Raphael, his brows drawn into a frown. Raphael looked at Camille who was laughing at something another vampire said, and then back to Magnus.

“She overheard me. There’s nothing I can do about that,” he replied. He’d sent Simon off to get a drink and he wished he had thought to skulk off himself. He didn’t like the feeling that he’d failed Magnus, not since he owed him so much.

“I shouldn’t have invited you at all. If Ragnor wasn’t so fond of you-”

“Cut the crap, Magnus. You wanted me here,” Raphael interrupted him. Magnus gave him a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

“Yes, for all the good it’s done me,” he replied wistfully. Raphael knew that Magnus was looking at Camille from the way his expression changed. Nostalgia weighing with anger, guilt, heartbreak, stoicism. It was a complicated look, one that made Raphael feel even more uncomfortable.

“Look, I’m sorry about Camille, but there’s nothing I could do about it,” he apologised. Magnus sighed.

“A warning phone call would have been nice,” Magnus said and he tore his eyes away from Camille, running a hand through his made-up hair.

“Yeah, well, I had my hands full,” Raphael replied. Magnus gave him a wide smile.

“How is Simon by the way?” He asked, his eyes glinting a little. Raphael felt his spine straighten. How did Magnus even pick up on these things so quickly?

“Shut up, Magnus,” he said. Magnus’ grin just became wider.

“Does your undead heart flutter when he walks into the room?” Magnus asked with faux-drama. Raphael bared his teeth, an empty threat, and Magnus knew it.

“I’m not talking to you about this,” he snarled. At that moment, Simon was suddenly there, a drink in hand and bright grin on his face. Magnus looked him up and down and if it were possible for someone’s face to become entirely smirk, Magnus would have managed it. He clearly recognised the suit as one of Raphael’s.

“Hey guys. Great party Magnus. Just checking, this drink won’t turn me into anything weird right?” Simon asked, holding up the tall glass and squinting at it suspiciously.

“That one’s safe,” Raphael said after sniffing it. Simon smiled and raised the glass to his lips, taking a sip and then immediately pulling a face.

“Yeugh! Tastes like pure vodka,” he said, holding the glass away from him and coughing slightly. Raphael reached out, taking it from his hand and sipping it himself.

“That’s because it is pure vodka,” he replied. Simon didn’t try to retrieve the drink, so Raphael knocked the rest of it back. It was probably for the best that the Mundane didn’t get wasted at Magnus’ party anyway. He’d take having to vomit over having to escort drunk Simon anywhere.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you drink alcohol, Raphael. Need a bit of Dutch courage?” Magnus asked. Raphael turned to Magnus, taking his hand and putting the empty glass in it.

“You know, I swear I saw your pet Shadowhunter leaving when you danced with Camille,” he replied. Magnus’ eyes narrowed.

“Alec was here?” Simon asked, glancing around as though he would see him, even though Raphael had said that he’d already left.

“Alec had things to do tonight,” Magnus said, but his voice sounded tight.

“Oh strange. He came all the way to a party, dressed to the nines, and he just skips out when you decide to get cosy with your ex. Sounds like he’s completely okay with everything,” Raphael replied sarcastically. Simon was looking between the two of them as though unsure whether or not he should intervene.

“Bite me,” Magnus snapped.

“You’d taste foul,” Raphael smirked at him. Magnus, seeming to realise he couldn’t win this particular battle turned his attention towards Simon.

“So, Simon, seen anyone who catches your eye?” He asked.

“Huh? Oh no I’m not really looking,” Simon replied, though there was the slightest trace of a blush on his cheeks that indicated it wasn’t the entire truth.

“Oh but you must dance at least once at a party. There must be someone…” Magnus prompted. Raphael wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He did not want to be the Alec Lightwood of his own situation.

“I, er, you know what, I’m happy just drinking my drink and avoiding the eye of most of the people here,” Simon said, holding up his hands as if to say ‘no thank you’. Seeming to know that he’d been defeated, Magnus just smiled at Simon.

“Well, the two of you have a lovely evening. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he warned. Raphael scoffed.

“That leaves a hell of a lot of options,” he snarked. Magnus’ returning smile was downright dirty.

“Exactly.”

 

*

 

Raphael and Isabelle had decided to walk back to Magnus’ apartment and await Jung-Mi’s results from Maia. The fresh night air was welcome after the morgue and being surrounded by real, living humans put everything else into a surreal juxtaposition.

 

They stopped to grab food and Raphael listened to Isabelle read aloud from a magazine someone had left in the diner. Ridiculous celebrity rubbish and make-up tips.

 

Neither of them wanted to talk about the case anymore.

 

Raphael paid when Isabelle was finished, her food mostly untouched on her plate. He didn’t mention it.

 

Outside the diner, Isabelle hesitantly put her hand through his arm. Raphael would have shrugged her off, made a snide comment, but the truth was that the physical touch was comforting and relatively inoffensive. They both needed it.

 

“Short cut,” Raphael said, gesturing to an alley with his head. Isabelle nodded. He’d barely stepped into the alley however when he heard Isabelle scream.

 

“Raphael! Look out!”

 

Raphael had barely managed to turn when he felt something throw him off his feet and against a wall. His head snapped back against the brickwork and he slid down it, dazedly. In less than a second, Isabelle was at his side, dragging him to his feet.

 

Their foe was wearing a high-necked black hoodie that concealed his face entirely in the dark. Just like the attackers from Simon’s grave, it moved with a speed that Raphael had never seen before. Even so, he could tell by the style of movement that this was a vampire.

 

Isabelle’s seraph blade was out and at the ready. Raphael dropped into a crouch.

 

The hooded vampire attacked. Isabelle had to leap out of the way of an outstretched clawed hand. Raphael jumped back in the other direction, his own long nails scratching down the vampire’s arm. The smell that followed was repulsive but also familiar, like a favorite fruit that was rotting. It reminded him of the smell in the warehouse with the bodies. Raphael gagged.

 

Isabelle moved to attack but the vampire caught her wrist, twisting her arm and managing to push her away. Isabelle staggered and the vampire took two steps back before taking off at a run. Raphael watched it go. He knew he had no chance of catching up.

 

“They’re onto us,” Isabelle said. She was limping slightly, clearing having twisted her ankle.

 

“Let’s get behind Magnus’ wards. Now,” he said. Isabelle activated her iratze rune, wincing a little as she did so. Raphael waited until she had healed her ankle and then they took off at a run.

 

*

 

Raphael banged the door open to the apartment, allowing Isabelle to slip in behind him before he slammed it shut and locked it. He stared at the closed door.

 

He heard the sound of Magnus’ footsteps on the hardwood floor. The warlock must have finished at the precinct and portaled back to have got there before them.

 

“Well, I am exhausted. That many memories in one day, even with so many warlocks, was absolutely- You look shaken. What happened?” Magnus pulled up short, his expression going from tired to stricken in an instant.

 

“We were attacked on the way back from the precinct,” Raphael said, turning to walk past Magnus into the lounge and begin pacing.

 

“You were what?” Magnus said, clearly too exhausted to keep up with the conversation. Isabelle followed Raphael into the lounge.

 

“We’re not hurt,” she said. Magnus, who had conjured fire to his fingertips, let the flames disintegrate.

 

“Well that’s something at least…” he said, then his expression changed. There was a sparkle in his eyes. “Did you happen to get any of their personal effects?”

 

“Just some blood under my nails,” Raphael said, holding up his hand that was still coated in the vampire’s blood.

 

“Ooooh! Gimme!” Magnus said, clicking his fingers and conjuring a cotton swab. He reached for Raphael’s hand. Raphael took a step back, staring at him like he was insane.

 

“It was a vampire, Magnus. They can’t be tracked,” he said. Magnus rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh ye of little faith,” he said. Raphael scowled at him.

 

“This isn’t about faith, Magnus. This is about the facts,” he said.

 

“Well,  _ your  _ facts perhaps. What do you think I’ve been doing since Simon disappeared?” Magnus asked and if he expected it to be rhetorical, he was in the wrong crowd.

 

“Watching RuPaul’s Drag Race on Netflix while penning a song ala Peeno Noir to try to get useless Youtube hits?” Isabelle suggested. Magnus chuckled.

 

“How did you know?” he asked. Isabelle actually broke a smile.

 

“That was really the answer?” she asked. Magnus smiled back at her.

 

“No, of course not. But A* for the pop culture references. I can tell you’ve been studying. Or that Clary has finally got you all Netflix accounts,” he said. Isabelle seemed to be happy to try to take their mind of it, but Raphael was far more interested in what Magnus was going to do with vampire blood.

 

“Magnus…” he said warningly. Magnus’ shoulders slumped and Raphael saw the tiredness working back into his demeanour.

 

“Oh, alright. I was working on a way to track vampires. Would you believe that no one has looked into it in hundreds of years?” he asked, gesturing to the piles of books on the floor. Raphael nodded.

 

“Yes. Because it can’t be done,” he said. It had been the biggest issue with finding Simon. 

 

“Again, Raphael, the lack of faith is truly unbecoming,” Magnus said, tapping him on the nose. “Give me your hand. Let me scrape out that blood.”

 

Raphael allowed Magnus to do what he wanted. Sometimes he forgot that Magnus was more than just a party-goer. He was incredibly powerful and one of the brightest magical minds the world had seen. Raphael just wasn’t sure where  _ brightest _ ended and  _ madness  _ began.

 

“Now, a little bit of your grave dirt if you please. We don’t want the spell to get confused and track you by accident,” Magnus said, holding out his hand. Raphael hesitantly reached into his pocket and withdrew the small vial.

 

Magnus turned away with a flourish and grabbed a piece of chalk from the table. It seemed like the warlock considered carefully moving things out of the way for a moment, before he decided it wasn’t worth it. He swept his arm across it, sending books and papers scattering to the floor, before he started to draw an array.

 

Raphael watched him work. Watched all the symbols appear, carefully crafted for whatever it was that Magnus needed to do to track a vampire.

 

Finally it was finished and Magnus put the swab in the center along with the jar of dirt. He closed his eyes and the scent of ozone, sandalwood and matches that Raphael associated with warlock magic filled his nostrils. No sooner had it started than it went.

 

“Oh,” Magnus said and stepped back. “There’s a rock club.  _ Chiaroscuro _ . Kind of a rockabilly crowd all truth told.”

 

“I know it.”

 

Raphael looked up, surprised. Stood in the doorway to the lounge was Alexander Lightwood, his bow slung over his back. He looked far more rested than any of them, but there was something dark behind his eyes that suggested a fatigue of a different nature.

 

There was an awkward tension that filled the room but Raphael didn’t have time for brother-sister politics or a lovers’ spat.

 

“It’s the one we went to before, right?” Raphael asked. Alec nodded. Magnus had turned away so he wasn’t looking at Alec. Isabelle was outright glaring.

 

Raphael just didn’t  _ care _ anymore.

 

“Are you coming with us? We could do with an extra body,” he said. Alec slowly inclined his head.

 

“Be careful, Raphael,” Magnus said. Raphael inclined his head in thanks. Magnus seemed to want to extend it to Alec, but the Lightwood had already turned away to avoid his sister’s eye.

 

“I’ll look out for him,” Raphael said quietly. Magnus didn’t say anything, but he patted Raphael on the arm tiredly.

 

*

 

“Er, Raphael, are you busy?” Simon poked his head through the door. Raphael sighed and put aside the letter from the leader of the Queens vampires.

 

“Yes,” he said, even though he’d clearly just put something aside. Simon smiled brightly and Raphael tried to ignore the way his chest expanded.

 

“Well, I’m going to interrupt anyway so that was more for politeness than it was an actual chance to get rid of me,” Simon rambled. Raphael waited patiently until he’d finished.

 

“What is it Simon?” he asked. Simon stepped around the door and rubbed the back of his neck. It was clearly something important if Simon was dancing around it. Raphael leaned his chin on his hand and waited.

 

“W-well, me and Clary got these tickets for a band we both like and… well, it’s been so long since I got to see a live act you know? And anyway, we were meant to be going with Isabelle, but she had to drop out and stuff and so we have this extra ticket and I was wondering if you wanted to come?” Simon said. Raphael leaned back in his chair, amused.

 

“You’re asking me to a gig with you?” he checked. Simon looked almost embarrassed.

 

“Y-yeah?” he said, as though not sure that was what he was asking.

 

“Is it a date?” Raphael continued, rather enjoying the opportunity to tease Simon like this. They’d been officially together for so long, it was endearing that Simon was still so jittery about something so small as asking him out.

 

“I… guess so?” Simon said. Raphael got to his feet, casually walking around his desk.

 

“Sure, whatever. What’s the band?” he said. Simon looked genuinely surprised. Had he thought Raphael would refuse to come? Raphael realised that Simon had very rarely been with him when he listened to music. In fact, most of the time when they listened to anything at all, Simon chose something to share with him rather than the other way round.

 

“Oh, uh, they’re called Apparition. They’re a Satanic worship heavy metal concept band,” Simon explained. Raphael raised an eyebrow.

 

“Right. Well, when is it?” he asked, glancing down at his watch. The sun had set an hour ago.

 

“U-um… In about two hours?” Simon said. Raphael looked down at his suit. Perfect for leading the vampires. Not so perfect for a… Satanic worship heavy metal concept band.

 

“I better get changed,” he said, making his way to his wardrobe. Simon seemed flustered.

 

“Oh, there’s no need to do that. You can just go in your normal clothes if you-” he began but Raphael gave him an amused look.

 

“This suit is  _ Armani _ . I don’t need some pubescent kid who hasn’t washed his hair in weeks getting his grease on it,” he said. Simon was giving him a look like he’d grown an extra head and Raphael was rather enjoying confusing him. It was like pretending to throw a ball for a dog, yet keeping it in your hand and watching the dog scamper around a little confusedly.

 

“I’ll meet you downstairs later,” Raphael said. Simon nodded, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say. Raphael smirked and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Simon’s mouth. “And thanks… For inviting me.”

 

Simon scurried out of the room, happy and clueless.

 

Raphael turned back to his wardrobe and ignored the suits and shirts that were hung up there. Instead he reached for a suitcase at the bottom. He kept a handful of outfits from different ages down there. You never knew when things would come back in fashion after all. And one such outfit, well, he wasn’t sure it ever  _ had _ gone out of fashion in some circles.

 

He pulled out the jeans, boots and t-shirt and shook them out, eyeing them critically. He carefully hung his suit back up and pulled them on. He’d forgotten what jeans even felt like when he wore them. He threaded a belt through the belt loops and pulled at the t-shirt, band symbol emblazoned across the front.

 

Finally he threw on his leather jacket over the top. It wasn’t perfect, but Simon had hardly given him enough time to truly get ready. He laced up the boots and straightened up, smirking to himself.

 

He still had work to do, and he busied himself with that to pass the hours until his alarm went off warning him to meet Simon.

 

It seemed Simon had informed the others to meet outside the Hotel DuMort because there was a small group of them waiting at the entrance. Clary and Alec were dressed in their typical shadowhunter clothes. They wouldn’t stand out much. Magnus had gone full theatrical goth, which was amusing and frightening in equal measure. Raphael kept it to himself that he thought Magnus had overdone it a little with the black lipstick.

 

Simon was wearing a band t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He didn’t look any different from usual but the expression on his face was priceless. Raphael told himself he didn’t preen, but he was sure that there was a satisfied smirk on his face.

 

“And with Raphael, that makes all of us,” Magnus said, not batting an eyelash at the lack of suit and tie. Simon gaped.

 

“I… what,” he said eloquently.

 

“There a problem?” Raphael asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

 

“You  _ own _ stone wash jeans and band t-shirts?” Simon said, his voice strangely high-pitched. Raphael snorted.

 

“Have you forgotten I lived through the eighties?” he asked. Simon’s dumbstruck expression turned into a wide grin.

 

“I try not to think about the fact I’m dating an old man,” he said. 

 

“I am gravely insulted,” Magnus sniffed. Alec laughed and pulled him into a hug, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

 

“Oh sorry Magnus, I didn’t mean you of course,” Simon said, looking to Raphael for help.

 

“Bite me,” Magnus replied, his usual retort to vampires when they pissed him off it seemed. Raphael rolled his eyes.

 

“Let’s get going. Which club is it?” he said, starting to walk away from the Hotel. Simon scrambled into his pockets for the tickets.

 

“Er… A place called  _ Chiaroscuro _ ?” he said, holding out the tickets for Raphael to see. Raphael saw the address and frowned.

 

“The old Saint Jan’s?” Raphael asked, referring to the somewhat legendary rock bar that had stood there before. Simon was gaping at him again. Magnus leaned over the tickets and nodded.

 

“Seems the address is the same?” he said before taking Alec’s hand and walking towards the subway.

 

“I am so confused by you right now,” Simon breathed. Raphael laughed again and Simon’s eyes seemed to grow brighter.

 

The journey to the venue was just like Raphael remembered from his days with Ragnor. The pre-gig buzz. Clary offered Raphael her ear phones so he could listen to some of the songs before he got there and she and Simon leaned over the phone screen, commenting on each song and telling stories about the band as each one played.

 

Magnus and Alec mostly kept to themselves, talking to each other in low, intimate voices.

 

When they got there, Raphael realised that despite New York changing almost every day, some things were always the same. Heavy metal venues were one of those things. Everything was painted black, his boots stuck to the floor and there was the general odor of sweat and vomit coating everything.

  
He put his hand on Simon’s shoulder before the fledgling could bounce off.

 

“I’m going to lurk by the bar with Magnus. We old men have no business with all that,” Raphael said, gesturing to where a growing number of people were gathering at the front of the stage. Simon pouted but he didn’t protest.

 

“Simon, take these,” Raphael said, giving him a set of ear plugs. Simon tilted his head to the side.

 

“What? Why?” he asked. Raphael ruffled his hair.

 

“Trust me, you’re going to want them,” he said. Simon seemed to accept that and slipped them into his pocket before grabbing Clary and Alec and starting to elbow his way to the front. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there weren’t many people who could stand in their way.

 

Raphael and Magnus went to the bar, leaning against it. Magnus ordered himself some kind of bottled cocktail that was horror themed. Raphael just watched him drink it for a minute.

 

“Why’d you come? It wasn’t ever your scene before,” Raphael said, gesturing around them. Magnus pulled a face.

 

“Alec wanted to,” he admitted. Raphael rolled his eyes, though he was amused by it.

 

“All that repression has to come out somewhere I suppose,” he mused. Magnus sucked on the straw that had come with his cocktail, eyes amused.

 

“You can talk,” he said. Raphael shrugged. He wasn’t repressed. Just… still working things out.

 

“Better don the earplugs Raphael. Looks like the support band’s starting,” Magnus warned. Raphael quickly plugged up his ears.

 

The first twangs of guitar vibrated through his bones. Raphael gritted his teeth as his enhanced senses fought against the onslaught of noise. Without earplugs it was virtually unbearable. He saw Simon near the front nearly fall over and scramble for his pockets.

 

The support band was alright. Mostly noise, but with some interesting lyrics. Raphael soaked in the atmosphere while Magnus downed cocktail after cocktail.

 

Finally the main band came on and Raphael far more amused. They were not so heavy as their support band had been, much more melodic, and their lyrics were definitely a step above. Raphael saw Magnus slowly get drawn into the theatrics of the act. If there was one thing about concept bands, it was that they knew how to put on a show.

 

The music reverberated in Raphael’s chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the sensations. With each thump, the vibration moved from his feet up to his rib cage. He had forgotten what it felt like to have a heart beat, but this was the closest he could ever get to it now.

 

Raphael’s eyes scanned the crowd. Occasionally he would see Clary, Alec or Simon’s heads before they disappeared into the swarming mass again. As it got closer to the end though, an idea occurred to him.

 

Back when it was Saint Jan’s, he’d known the security guy in the back. If that was still the same person…

 

He patted Magnus on the shoulder to let him know he was leaving and walked into the crowd. It was easy for him to cut a path for himself. No one could move him after all. He found Simon, whose eyes were glued to the stage in hero worship.

 

He grabbed Simon’s wrist and pulled. Simon staggered and was about to jerk away when he saw it was Raphael. He looked confused but allowed himself to be led away.

 

Once they were outside the main room and into the corridors that led to the toilets, Raphael took his ear plugs out. Simon followed suit, looking between Raphael and the door.

 

“I’m missing the encore!” Simon protested. Raphael smiled and took both of Simon’s shoulders, steering him down the corridor.

 

“Trust me, you’re going to want to,” he said. He saw the door marked backstage just where it used to be and used his foot to kick it open.

 

“Raphael are we even allowed back here?” Simon asked quietly. 

 

“Relax,” Raphael said, letting go of Simon’s shoulders and peering around. It was almost nostalgic to be here.

 

“Raphael!”

 

And there he was. The Big V himself. Still working security even though he had to be in his fifties at least. He was a large man, tattooed, bearded, muscled. He hadn’t updated his fashion in thirty years it seemed, but Raphael wasn’t concerned about that.

 

He shook Big V’s hand and even allowed the man to pull him into a hug. Simon was goggle-eyed.

 

“Jesus, you’ve had some work done to you. You always were a vain motherfucker though. Guess that’s what passing on the drugs and alcohol does for you,” Big V said, smiling wide and clapping Raphael on the shoulder. He looked a little glassy in the eyes. He was probably high as a kite already.

 

“Yeah. I have a great diet,” Raphael said, ignoring the way that Simon snorted. “This is Simon.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Big V said, shaking Simon’s hand somewhat more politely. “I guess you wanna meet the band right? I can only get you a few moments. The guys are going to be absolutely wrecked after this.”

 

“No worries,” Raphael reassured him. Big V grinned and walked away. Simon watched him go before turning to Raphael.

 

“Raphael what-” he began but at that moment the final chord of the last encore played. The backstage suddenly erupted into action and the band walked in from the door labelled ‘stage’. Simon was practically trembling.

 

Big V artfully intercepted Apparition and directed them Raphael and Simon’s way. The lead singer, a willowy man with rather terrifying skeleton face paint and a fake Cardinal’s outfit, waved the rest of the band on.

 

“This is Raphael,” Big V said with a certain amount of admiration. The singer’s eyebrows crawled up his face.

 

“We’ve heard a lot about you. Though, perhaps, you are not  _ the _ Raphael they were talking of. A son perhaps?” he asked, his voice had a faint Finnish twang. This man wasn’t a Downworlder, though he was obviously aware enough to realise that a young Raphael from the seventies or eighties could not be a young Raphael now.

 

“All my family look very alike,” Raphael lied. The singer could tell it was a lie but he didn’t seem to mind so much. He looked more curious than anything. “My friend was wondering if you could sign his t-shirt?”

 

“Certainly,” the singer said and dug a pen out of his pocket. Simon shuffled forward and Raphael saw him hold his breath as the fake cardinal scribbled some kind of signature against his chest. Raphael knew it wasn’t time to remind him that he didn’t need to breathe at all.

 

“There you go. It was nice to meet you Simon,” Apparition’s singer said. He then reached out to shake Raphael’s hand. It was sweaty and hot but Raphael felt the sharp sting of a burn against his skin. He pulled his hand away, realising that the man had the inverted cross of Satan tattooed on his palms.

 

“Interesting reaction,” the singer commented. Raphael hid the fact his hand was burned by shoving his hand in his pocket.

 

“Any kind of religious iconography makes my skin crawl,” he said. 

 

“Even Satanic? You are an interesting man,” the singer replied and he looked like he wanted to ask more questions. Raphael thought it best to cut him off.

 

“Thank you. Now we won’t keep you,” he said. Big V beamed and escorted the singer away. As soon as they were round the corner, Simon launched himself at Raphael. His arms wrapped so tightly around Raphael’s neck that Raphael was glad he didn’t need to breathe. He staggered back a few steps, trying to untangle Simon’s arms from around his neck. The other vampire just held on stubbornly.

 

“That was… Raphael… You… I… That…” Simon stammered, clearly unable to express himself. Raphael relaxed into the embrace for a moment and then gently pushed at Simon’s hips to get him to let go.

 

“Let’s get going back to the others,” he said. Simon nodded and they snuck out of the backstage area and back to the main corridors.

 

“Raphael, they were talking about you like you were some kind of legend,” Simon said, reaching out to take Raphael’s hand. Raphael resisted the automatic urge to pull his hand away and instead focused on the happiness on Simon’s face.

 

“Were they? I didn’t notice,” he said. Simon gave him a playful push and Raphael pretended it actually made him misstep.

 

They lurked by the bar for a little bit, scanning the departing crowds for lost shadowhunters or warlocks. Finally Clary descended on them, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat and a huge grin on her face.

 

“Where have you guys been? We were looking for you everywhere!” she said and then her eyes went wide. “Did you… Oh my god, you got your shirt signed?”

 

“Yeah, Raphael got me backstage!” Simon said, bumping his shoulder against Raphael’s. Clary looked at Raphael as though seeing him for the first time.

 

“Let’s get out of here. We can go to Taki’s and grab something to eat. You smell like a brewery and you’re going to need something to soak up that alcohol,” he said. “Magnus and Alec too, wherever they are.”

 

“They’re waiting outside,” Clary said and she bounded out. Simon and Raphael followed at a more sedate pace. Simon refused to let go of Raphael’s hand and when Magnus saw them, he saw the warlock’s smile stretch across his face.

 

They began the walk to Taki’s, Alec and Clary reliving moments of the concert they enjoyed best between them. Simon seemed to be content, for once, with silence. Raphael was slightly worried he’d blown a few brain cells.

 

“You seemed remarkably comfortable there,” Clary commented, looking Raphael up and down, seemingly impressed.

 

Raphael scoffed.

 

“You think your generation invented heavy metal?” he asked. Clary laughed.

 

“Oh please don’t get him started,” Magnus interrupted, leaning out of Alec’s arm around his shoulder to join in the conversation.

 

“This is not adding up in my brain,” Simon complained. Raphael gave him an amused look.

 

“I was in Des Moines for the bat incident. Thought Ragnor was gonna faint,” he said, knowing it was bragging but not caring. Simon’s eyes went wide as saucers.

 

“There’s something in that reference I didn’t get. What the hell’s so important in about bats in Iowa?” Alec asked, drunkenly pulling Magnus against him again. Raphael was about to reply but Simon beat him to it.

 

“Rock legend says that when Black Sabbath were in Des Moines in 1982, a fan threw a bat on stage and Ozzy bit it’s head off,” Simon said excitedly. “It pretty much made him a household name in America and has been repeated through the ages as one of the great live concert stories.”

 

“That poor bat,” Magnus said with a sigh. Raphael laughed.

 

“I can’t even imagine it… I mean, current clothes aside, you just don’t seem like the type…” Clary said. Raphael shrugged.

 

“Really easy to feed at metal concerts,” he replied. “And the discos were kind of dangerous to us at the time.”

 

Clary looked both intrigued and repulsed. Simon merely looked starry-eyed.

 

“Please, please, please talk rock music to me,” he begged. Raphael allowed the smirk to play across his lips.

 

“Motörhead, Led Zeppelin, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden…” He listed jokingly. Simon let out a groan that Raphael had only heard before when they made out.

 

“Would you mind doing your foreplay elsewhere? Some of us would like to  _ not  _ lose our dinner,” Magnus quipped. Raphael slung an arm around Simon’s shoulders and gave Magnus a satisfied look.

 

“Of course. Enjoy the rest of your night. Drink plenty of water and heal those bruises,” he said and Simon didn’t even complain as he was bundled into the nearest taxi, jibbering about bands and live music and guitar riffs as only a creature that didn’t need to breathe only could.

 

*

 

“Look for anyone that looks thirsty,” Raphael said, gesturing to the bar. His memories of last time they were here felt almost bittersweet now. Alec nodded and immediately blended into the crowd.

 

“I can see plenty of people who look thirsty here, Raphael. Can you be more specific?” Isabelle said, her dark eyes scanning over the bar.

 

“Ha. Haha,” Raphael said flatly. Isabelle shot him a smile and then disappeared into the crowd. Raphael hung back at the bar, just as he had last time, his eyes scanning the room for anyone who looked suspicious.

 

Barely thirty minutes past and Isabelle was back.

 

“It’s so loud! I can’t strike up a conversation with anyone,” she protested. Raphael, however, had finally found what they were looking for. A vampire, still covering his face, with a tattered sleeve.

 

“You don’t need to. Over there,” he gestured. Isabelle followed his gaze and then her eyes widened.

 

“Look at his arm!” she hissed.

 

It was still scratched and bloody, deep ridges running down the skin as though it had been done fresh. As though he was a mundane.

 

“It’s not healing. Just like Maia,” Raphael said. Isabelle frowned.

 

“But I thought you said he was a vampire?” she replied. Raphael made a shooing gesture at her. There were other things to be concerned with right now.

 

“He is… Look, he’s leaving with that girl,” he said. Sure enough the vampire was using the fire escape to lead an intoxicated girl out of the room. If Raphael didn’t know better, he’d have said she was probably on meth.

 

“Let’s follow him…” Isabelle said. Raphael nodded and they both crossed the room and slipped out of the fire escape.

 

At first, Raphael thought that the trail had gone cold in the time it took them to leave the bar, but then he heard it. The slick sounds of a vampire feeding on a human. He had enough time to make out the hooded vampire leaning over the girl’s neck as her final breath left her body before he was suddenly the target of the creature’s murderous attentions.

 

The neon lights of the club flickered almost on cue.

 

“Run!” he yelled to Isabelle and she didn’t need telling twice. “Get Alec!”

 

The vampire was on his feet, drawing a nasty looking silver blade from inside his hoodie pocket. It was carved with all kinds of arcane symbols and its blade was twisted. It was designed to do maximum damage. Raphael did  _ not _ want to be caught with it.

 

The vampire lunged.

 

Raphael flung himself to one side, hissing as the blade caught him down the ribs. The hooded figure didn’t slow down, just adjusted his trajectory to spin Raphael around. Desperate to keep his balance, Raphael grasped the fabric of the figure’s hood, feeling it tear in his hands.

 

The hood pulled free, revealing the face of his attacker.

 

Raphael saw the tattered, ugly scarf that was wrapped tightly around a pale neck. He knew that scarf, had hated that scarf, had teased its wearer, had tied it gently around that throat on Christmas Eve and sealed its protection against the cold with a kiss.

 

The next blow caught him unexpectedly. The knife lodged deep in his chest, mere inches from his heart. He coughed a spray of blood onto the uncaring face of his enemy.

 

“Simon,” he could barely speak. His legs went from under him. He could only stare up at the revealed face and seeing every fear he’d ever had reflected back at him. The wound in his chest barely hurt yet he felt like he was dying all over again.

 

“Raphael,” Simon said. If there were no recognition in Simon’s eyes, Raphael could have fooled himself that this was a demon, a trickster wearing Simon’s face. Simon stared him down steadily, however, with enough hatred to make Raphael doubt he’d ever seen love in those eyes.

 

“Why?” Raphael forced out. The asphalt at his knees bit into his skin. Even as Simon drew the blade from his chest, it still hurt somehow less than the pressure of his knees on the floor. 

 

“It’s all your fault,” Simon hissed. Raphael raised his hands up to Simon, trying to catch the hand that wielded the blade. But Simon, just like God, was beyond his reach now.

 

Simon raised the blade again Raphael realised that his intention was to kill him. He knew Simon would not miss his heart again. He stared into Simon’s hostile eyes and was left without doubt that he’d do it. He willed himself to move, but it felt like all the agency had left him.

 

“See you in Hell,  _ Rafa _ ,” Simon said, almost spitting the nickname before lunging.

 

The knife was suddenly clattering to the floor, a well-placed arrow piercing solidly through Simon’s wrist. Simon staggered back, yanking it out as he did so, and baring his fangs in the direction it had come from.

 

Raphael scrambled to his feet, prepared to tackle Simon but his sudden movement made the vampire flinch. The moment Raphael’s hand touched Simon’s arm, he was only holding vague mist in his hand which swirled out of his grasp and away down the alley.

 

“No!” Raphael yelled but there was no one left to hear his plea.

 

Isabelle and Alec ran down the alley, skidding to a stop in front of him. Isabelle checked his chest, seemingly happy to find it already healing while Alec picked up his arrow from the floor.

 

“Was that Simon?” Alec asked. Isabelle’s expression was close to heartbreak as she took a step back from Raphael to give him room. Raphael couldn’t make his voice work.

 

“Was it?” Isabelle repeated, but Raphael could see it in her eyes that she already knew the answer that Raphael couldn’t bring himself to say.

 

“He almost killed you,” Alec said, clearly taking Raphael’s silence for affirmation. Raphael felt like the whole world was strangely unreal. He was surrounded by shadowhunters, injured and the whole world was tinged red. Why was it red?

 

“It can’t have been what it looked like,” Isabelle said, her voice firm in her disbelief. Raphael could see his own blood spilt on the floor.

 

“Was it a fear demon?” Alec suggested. Raphael couldn’t bear it any longer. They might want to live in a fantasy world, but that would save no one. Only the truth would.

 

“No, it was Simon,” he said. Alec’s expression pulled into a frown.

 

“Did he say anything about why he attacked you?” Isabelle asked. Raphael shook his head. The redness in his vision was somehow getting worse.

 

“All I can guess is whatever they tried to do to Maureen and Maia and failed with… It worked on Simon. He was faster, stronger. He wasn’t the same,” Raphael said.

 

“We’ll get him back somehow, Raphael. I promise,” Isabelle’s voice broke.

 

Raphael had no such hopes. He had seen the face of Hell beneath that hood. He’d seen what his eternal suffering would be. He was terrified. His heart ached in his chest. He felt sick, nauseated. He remembered the word that Simon had given him for this feeling, though the other side of it. The positive side of it. The side that was soft kisses and whispered conversations.

 

“I still have faith,” Raphael whispered, mostly to himself. Isabelle made a noise of distress and moved forward, pulling him into her arms and holding him tightly against her.

 

There was blood leaking down his cheeks, but even if they saw it, neither shadowhunter said anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;D
> 
> I do want to reassure you, that this will all be explained and fixed.


	10. Isolationist Policies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Need your ego stroked?” he asked. Simon huffed out a laugh and the hairs on the back of Raphael’s neck stood on end. He felt Simon’s lips drag against the shell of his ear as he spoke.
> 
> “Well, seeing as I’m not going to get anything else stroked,” Simon said and then he pulled back laughing. “Oh damn, I can’t believe I said that. I am the King of Smooth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone tells each other how to feel and no one tells anyone else how they really feel.

_ Emotions are interesting things. Upon reflection, it becomes obvious in hindsight what was so obscured at the time. But I had spent my whole life arguing against people who tried to tell me what I felt and I wasn’t about to let them define me in my grief. _

  


_ ‘Oh you just need to meet the right person,’ they’d say. Or ‘wait until you’re older and you won’t think like that’. Then it was pity. ‘Oh you’ve never felt love? How sad’ or ‘I don’t want you to spend eternity alone’. _

  


_ People constantly invalidated how I felt, told me how to react to things, didn’t listen when I explained them and so eventually I just gave up. _

  


_ I had not been discontent that way. I hadn’t been happy, but that had been more about other things in my unlife than the desire to have one partner who I was supposed to dedicate my existence to. _

  


_ Yet I had dedicated my existence to someone in the end… and then they were gone and I was alone once more, only this time with the bitter taste of failure in my mouth. _

  


*

  


Everywhere Raphael looked there was Simon. He hadn’t noticed before how much of Simon’s things had worked their way into his space until he was trapped there without him. As the night turned to morning, Raphael wandered around his room, absently moving Simon’s things around.

  


A discarded hoodie. A set of tangled headphones. A guitar pick. A comic book.

  


It was little things. Things that had slowly begun to escape his notice the closer he and Simon became.

  


Now he felt like they were there just to stab him one more time in the chest.

  


“Er, Raphael? Garroway’s here,” Luis said, looking shifty. “Should I tell him to call back when everyone’s awake?”

  


Raphael glanced at Luis.

  


“Tell him to go away. We did what we set out to do,” he said. Luis looked surprised.

  


“You found Simon?” he asked. Raphael nodded and added a discarded sock to the pile of things he was slowly collecting on his bed.

  


“That’s great! Where is he? I’ll-”

  


“He isn’t coming home,” Raphael said. Luis stilled.

  


“He’s dead?” he asked, his voice cracking. Raphael shook his head.

  


“No,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. Luis looked like he wanted to ask more questions but instead he just bowed his head.

  


“I see. I’ll tell Garroway to take his wolves and get lost,” he said.

  


“We’ve achieved what the Union was created for. Tell them that we’re back to the status quo again,” Raphael said. Luis slowly backed out of the room, looking confused.

  


Raphael stared at the collection of odds and ends on his bed blankly for a few more moments before he turned on his heel and left the room.

  


He’d sleep in one of the spare rooms today.

  


*

  


“Raphael has called off the alliance,” Luke said, walking into Magnus apartment and slamming the door loudly behind him. Isabelle was instantly on her feet, running to the door to greet him. Magnus followed at a more sedate pace, a glass of something exceptionally strong in his hand. As soon as Alec and Isabelle had started to recount their run in with Simon, Magnus had decided to hit the hard stuff.

  


“Why?” Alec asked, folding his arms. With the finding of Simon, Magnus and Alec had put aside their argument for another time and, though Isabelle was still furious with her brother, she had to admit that she had found his presence comforting over the last few hours.

  


“He says it achieved it’s goal and found Maia and Simon. He’s not wrong,” Luke said, rubbing his hands over his head. Isabelle felt the same helpless anger she’d felt when Raphael had beaten up the  _ Santero _ over take her.

  


“But there’s so much more left to do! What about all those dead Downworlders?” she demanded. She had seen Raphael was capable of retreating into himself, of acting selfishly, of shutting out people even if it ended up only spiteing himself in the end. She had never expected him to do this now. Not when they were so close to finding out what had happened.

  


“Says that’s what we pay blood to the Nephilim for,” Luke said. “He tried to send an underling to tell me and I had to go and demand to speak to him in person. He was his usual cold self. Like nothing had happened to Simon or Maia at all.”

  


“Magnus, you have to talk to him!” Isabelle said, whirling to face Magnus who was mid-sip of his drink. He looked surprised.

  


“And say what exactly? ‘I’m sorry the love of your life wants to kill you, Raphael, but could you find it in your heart to stop grieving and do the shadowhunters’ jobs for them’?” he asked incredulously. Isabelle frowned.

  


“So you agree with him?” she asked. Magnus shrugged and swirled the ice around his glass.

  


“It’s short-sighted of him, but Raphael has always fought for what’s closest to home first,” he replied. “If Simon has chosen to leave, then Raphael’s next step would be to isolate and protect the vampires.”

  


“That  _ wasn’t _ Simon. Not the  _ real _ Simon,” Isabelle said forcefully. Magnus took another sip of his drink.

  


“Yet Raphael believes it was and, out of all of us here, he perhaps knew him best,” he said. Isabelle clenched her fists.

  


“Magnus!” she said warningly but Magnus just waved a hand at her vaguely.

  


“Just saying my name that way won’t change my mind, nor will I help you change Raphael’s. Give him time to  _ get over it _ ,” he said firmly. Isabelle wanted to hit something. Or someone. Preferably Raphael to get him out of his funk.

  


“And what if he doesn’t get over it?” she asked. “What if this is it?”

  


“Then don’t count on the vampires for help,” Magnus said, shrugging. Alec looked alarmed by the suggestion but clearly wasn’t going to get involved. Isabelle smiled mirthlessly to herself. How like her brother to try to placate everyone by not picking a side.

  


“I can’t believe you’d talk like this! Luke, let’s go. We can check on how the tests are going with Maia,” Isabelle said, turning on her heel and walking to the door.

  


“Let me know how it goes. I’m still prepared to help you investigate,” Magnus called to her. Isabelle paused to pull on her boots.

  


“I don’t think your help will be necessary,” she snapped. “And Alec, hadn’t you better run back to the Institute now? We wouldn’t want them to think you were hanging out with deserters after all.”

  


“Isabelle, you’re out of line,” Magnus said and he sounded like a patient father pushed too far. Isabelle  _ hated _ that tone of voice.

  


“You have given up on Simon, on Raphael, and on all those Downworlders? It’s so easy for you to give up, isn’t it Magnus? To fall back on retreat like you always do,” she finished tying her boots and opened the door to Luke’s apartment. Whatever was said in reply, she couldn’t hear it over the blood pounding in her ears.

  


She bounded down the stairs and only when she reached the bright, crisp morning air did she stop. She gasped in breaths, trying to keep tears of anger and frustration at bay.

  


“Isabelle,” Luke had followed her. He didn’t touch her, instead just gesturing with his head further up the street. “The car’s parked that way. I’ll drop you at the station. You can help Jung-Mi.”

  


Glad to have something to do, Isabelle nodded.

  


She hadn’t defied the Clave to give up now.

  


*

  


“Stop thinking about everything like a human and learn to trust your senses,” Raphael instructed. A line appeared between Simon’s brows. The fledgling really wasn’t doing so well. He wasn’t even trying as far as Raphael was concerned.

  


“What do you mean?” Simon asked. Raphael took a few steps forward then stopped himself. He remembered his promise to himself. Now that Simon was turned, he wouldn’t pursue this. He wouldn’t be able to absolve his guilt this way, couldn’t force Simon to have to look into the eyes of the person who made him this way every day.

  


He hovered for a moment before putting his hands in his pockets.

  


“Close your eyes,” he said. Simon nodded and his eyes fluttered closed. Raphael was secretly relieved. Simon saw too much when he looked at him.

  


“Eyes closed,” he confirmed. Raphael took a moment to look at him, the vampire enhanced smoothness of his skin, the thickness of his eyelashes against cheeks that were getting paler by the day, the way the corners of his mouth quirked up.

  


“What can you smell?” Raphael asked before Simon could get suspicious and open his eyes. Simon pulled a face.

  


“Musty old hotel,” he said, wrinkling up his nose.

  


“Simon…” Raphael sighed. Simon opened a single eye, saw Raphael’s scowl and closed it again.

  


“Fine, fine…” he said and then was silent for a moment. “I can smell the firewood and the fire. I can smell that you added a dash of spice to your blood this morning. Paprika? And I can… I can smell you?”

  


“Well, it’s a start,” Raphael said though he was a little proud that Simon had managed to pick up the scent from the kitchens as well.

  


“No wait! You use one of those girly shampoos and-” Simon continued. Raphael blinked.

  


“Alright Simon-” Raphael cut him off but Simon was moving closer to him. He was sniffing and Raphael was pretty sure he was close enough now that even a mundane would have been able to smell whatever it was Simon was picking up.

  


Simon’s eyes sprang open and Raphael realised they were only a foot apart. It was too close. Simon’s mouth was  _ just there _ and if he leaned forward...

  


He quickly jerked back, putting distance between them.

  


“Chanel Pour Monsieur! Hey, that smells good on you!” Simon said, and Raphael could hear the slight tremor in his voice that said it was false cheer. He didn’t know what to do, so instead he fell back on what he knew how to do best. Tease him. 

  


“How do you even  _ know _ the name of a cologne?” Raphael asked. Simon’s grin was a little more real this time.

  


“My grandpa used to wear it!” he said. Raphael shook his head. It seemed like every time he spoke to Simon he was reminded of another reason why they absolutely should  _ not _ pursue whatever…  _ this _ was.

  


“I am never talking to you again,” Raphael said, deciding that for today training was over.

  


His  _ grandfather _ , really?

  


“Wait! Raphael! Come back! We’re not finished training yet! Raphael!”

  


*

  


“Eureka!” Kim Jung-Mi cheered. Isabelle turned around on the spinning chair that Jung-Mi had told her to sit on out of the way.

  


“Something good?” she asked. Jung-Mi smiled brightly.

  


“A breakthrough on the autopsies. I can now say with certainty that all the bodies were almost certainly experimented on. The lesions on the brain and the weird growths were all induced in them from some kind of outside source,” she said. Isabelle got to her feet and walked towards the corpse that Jung-Mi was working on. The lines of the dissection were almost perfect. Isabelle was impressed.

  


“Someone did this to them on purpose? Why?” Isabelle asked. Jung-Mi shrugged, though the victory in her expression didn’t fade.

  


“For that we’d probably have to ask them. But yes, there’s undigested pills in the stomachs of some of the… what did Catarina call them.... Seelies?” Jung-Mi said and held up a small white thing that was coated in stomach acid. Isabelle peered at it. There were no more defining letters on it that could tell them what it was.

  


“You can test them?” she asked. Jung-Mi grinned.

  


“Almost certainly. Would you like to help? We can backwards engineer the experiment perhaps?” she suggested. Isabelle felt a smile pull at the corners of her mouth.

  


“I would definitely like to help. Just tell me what needs doing,” she said, reaching for some gloves and pulling them on quickly.

  


“Alright, well first we’ve got to retrieve as many of the drugs as possible. Catarina told me that you’re kind of like a pathologist. Think you can cut open the stomachs and withdraw the drugs?” Jung-Mi asked. Isabelle gave her a slow smile.

  


“Let me get lab protection on and consider it done,” she said. Jung-Mi gave her a thumbs up and Isabelle felt lighter than she had done in days. She was being useful, she was making progress. It was all going to be alright.

  


*

  


The lights were low in the Hotel Dumort’s lobby. Outside the last light of the day was fading.

  


Raphael had to admit that Simon was  _ really _ good at back rubs. He didn’t like being touched at the best of times, but Simon had been slowly working under those shields. A back rub through a t-shirt was as far as Raphael was willing to let him go right now, but it was still amazing to feel Simon’s fingers dig into his muscles.

  


He shivered and Simon leaned forward, his lips right next to Raphael’s ear.

  


“Feel good?” he asked. Raphael swallowed. He was painfully glad that the other vampires in the hotel hadn’t risen yet for the night.

  


“Need your ego stroked?” he asked. Simon huffed out a laugh and the hairs on the back of Raphael’s neck stood on end. He felt Simon’s lips drag against the shell of his ear as he spoke.

  


“Well, seeing as I’m not going to get anything else stroked,” Simon said and then he pulled back laughing. “Oh damn, I can’t believe I said that. I am the King of Smooth.”

  


Raphael leaned back against Simon’s chest, resting his head on Simon’s shoulder. The fledgling smiled and leaned down to kiss him. Their lips were about to touch when the scent of matches and sandalwood assaulted Raphael’s senses.

  


He sat up quickly, disentangling him from Simon quickly enough to be on his feet by the time Magnus entered the room. Simon was blinking, bereft, but then he saw Magnus and realised why Raphael had pulled away. He was never going to be truly comfortable with PDA.

  


“What are you doing here?” Raphael demanded, folding his arms. Magnus looked like someone had painted an expression of nonchalance on his face and it was starting to crack.

  


“An impassioned little Shadowhunter sent me,” he said with a shrug. Raphael frowned.

  


“Alec?” Simon got to his feet, walking around the couch they’d been sat on. Magnus seemed to only just realise he was there.

  


“How did you ever guess? I am here to  _ be with  _ Camille,” Magnus announced. Raphael could see the way his breathing had become irregular. If he was right, Magnus was probably a few moments away from a panic attack.

  


“Have you hit your head? That doesn’t sound good for you or Alec,” Simon said and he came to Raphael’s side. It wasn’t close enough to be touching, but Raphael could feel his presence all along his side anyway.

  


“I am aware,” Magnus replied and didn’t elaborate. Raphael dropped his arms.

  


“You need to reconsider this, Magnus. It’s a bad idea,” he said. Magnus looked down at the floor.

  


“He called in every life debt I owed him because of this stupid curse and forced me into it,” he said. Raphael couldn’t believe Lightwood would be so stupid. Or that Magnus would be so stupid as to be tricked into it.

  


“And you let him?” Raphael asked. 

  


“Oh, should I have forced him into a relationship with me?” Magnus growled.

  


“Well, you shouldn’t have rolled over and just taken it,” Raphael retorted. Magnus’ eyes flashed in the dark light, cat-like pupils dangerously narrow.

  


“I assure you that I don’t roll over and take  _ anything _ unless I’m asked nicely,” he said and though his voice was flirty, his eyes betrayed the deep anger he felt.

  


“Images I didn’t need,” Simon quipped. Magnus’ expression softened slightly. Raphael was suddenly grateful that everyone saw Simon as some precious little teddy bear to be protected. He was good at de-escalating situations like this.

  


“Besides, if Alec is right, our relationship is doomed in any case,” Magnus said with a sigh, starting to fidget with a ring on his index finger.

  


Raphael couldn’t believe what he was hearing. To hear Magnus, who had both the ability and inclination to love, just give up. Just accept. Just run away.

  


“You’re an idiot to give up on True Love because of something so small,” Raphael said. Simon was looking at Raphael with wide eyes. He hadn’t spoken about love in front of him before, Raphael realised. Perhaps Simon had thought him incapable of understanding the concept?

  


“And what do you know about True Love,  _ really _ , Raphael?” Magnus spat back. Raphael knew it was supposed to wound him but it didn’t. Instead he just smiled coldly.

  


“That it’s so rare that most people never feel it,” he said. “Come on, Simon. Let’s leave him here to mope.”

  


They didn’t even get out of the foyer before Magnus spoke up again, his voice small and broken.

  


“I didn’t think it would end this way,” he whispered. Raphael glanced over his shoulder.

  


“It isn’t over yet, Magnus,” he reminded him. Magnus didn’t meet his eyes. “I thought you had stronger feelings for him than this.”

  


Simon rested a hand on his shoulder, obviously meaning that enough was enough, and Raphael took the hint.

  


That morning Simon curled against him tightly in his bed, fists clutched tightly in Raphael’s shirt and, for the first time, Raphael didn’t want to chuck him out of it.

  


*

  


Raphael stared at the belongings on his bed. He didn’t know what to do with them. The pile had grown a little as he discovered a few other things. Most prominently were Simon’s glasses, something Simon had kept around as a keepsake even though he didn’t need to wear them anymore.

  


Someone cleared their throat. It was a testament to how out of it he was that he was caught unawares. Magnus was at the door to his room, a hand resting against the wood where he’d pushed the door open. He looked as though he was resigned to something terrible.

  


“What are you doing here?” Raphael asked, not seeing the point in niceties that Magnus would not expect from him anyway.

  


“An impassioned little Shadowhunter sent me,” Magnus replied. Raphael recognised the line and knew where this conversation was about to go.

  


“Raphael, Isabelle wants you to reconsider breaking the union. She wants you to keep trying to get Simon back,” Magnus said. Raphael looked at the glasses, at the hoodie, at the comic book, and then looked back to Magnus.

  


“He stared me in the eyes and tried to kill me,” he said. Magnus took a step into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning on it briefly as he searched for words.

  


“And you don’t want to know why?” he finally asked. Raphael felt his mouth quirk up into a smile that held nothing but hollowness.

  


“Will knowing change anything?” he asked. Magnus pushed away from the door and began to walk towards him.

  


“Will it change your sadness into joy? No,” he said and as soon as he was close enough, he cupped Raphael’s cheek. Even knowing that Magnus didn’t mean anything by the contact, Raphael’s skin crawled. “It doesn’t work like that, my dear. But it might bring you peace, in time.”

  


“Did it bring you peace? To know what Camille did to you and why?” Raphael asked, knowing he was going for a sore spot. Magnus immediately dropped his hand to his side as if burned.

  


“No,” he acknowledged and Raphael shook his head.

  


“Then why do you think it will be that way for me?” he asked, turning away from Magnus and putting as much space between them as he could.

  


“Because despite it all, I hope that if you continue to pursue Simon that you will find an answer that isn’t so horrific. I believe that there’s a reason for everything and I think that when you know the reason, you’ll be able to work it out between the two of you,” Magnus said firmly. Raphael snorted tiredly.

  


“You  _ believe?  _ You  _ hope?”  _ he repeated, whirling on Magnus and narrowing his eyes, fangs bared.

  


“All faith is a choice, Raphael. I just choose to believe in people more than I believe in any higher power,” Magnus replied, calm even in the face of the imminent threat Raphael could pose to him. He held up his hands in front of his chest, his eyes kind and sad. “I can see that you’re not ready yet. I’m sorry. I listened to Isabelle and I should have trusted my gut instead and given you more time.”

  


Magnus walked to the door. When he hand was on the doorknob he seemed to realise he hadn’t entirely said his piece. He turned back.

  


“Just think about this, Raphael. If you loved him and he loved you, can you really stand to let it end like this?” Magnus asked. Raphael stared at the glasses on his bed.

  


“We weren’t in love,” he replied flatly. Magnus inclined his head.

  


“I won’t presume to know your feelings for each other then. Apologies. I just thought you felt more strongly than this,” he replied, mirroring Raphael’s own words to him over a year ago. Raphael didn’t give him the pleasure of reacting.

  


“Get out,” he said, his voice low. Magnus left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  


Raphael went to find a box.

  


*

  


“Raphael?” Raphael turned over his shoulder. He had just finished getting dressed but it seemed that whatever it was Simon wanted, he couldn’t wait a few moments for Raphael to actually be fully decent. Still, a small smile worked its way onto his face, entirely unbidden.

“What do you need, Simon?” he asked.

“I was wondering if… well,” Raphael heard Simon swallow almost audibly before he continued. “I just wanted to talk really.”

Raphael turned, not sure what this was but almost certain that it was going to be about something he didn’t want to deal with. He forced the smile to remain, hoping against hope that this would be about something stupid and meaningless.

“We never talked about… about that argument with Clary,” Simon said. Raphael immediately turned away, grabbing the first cufflinks that came to hand and jamming them into the button holes. The stupid Fairchild had made  _ no _ progress on tracking the vampires who had turned Simon, so wrapped up in Magnus’ little drama as she was. He guessed the fairytale ending would be far more intriguing for a teenage girl than the horrible task of tracking down murderers.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Raphael said. There was nothing left to say in any case.

“Look, I know this isn’t… what you wanted. Or what I wanted. It’s not what anyone wanted. But the least you can do is be honest with me,” Simon said. Raphael heard him take a few steps closer.

“You’ve been different with me recently,” Simon’s voice sounded wistful. Raphael carefully made sure his expression betrayed nothing as he looked up at Simon.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m acting the same as I always did. Perhaps you just perceive it differently now?” Raphael lied. He could see Simon wasn’t convinced and he wished that, somehow, he’d never got involved with him in the first place.

“I’m not sure this is about perception, Raphael. I thought… I thought that we were close,” Simon said and Raphael wondered what Simon had thought they were close to becoming. He almost wished Simon had put a name on it so he could have denied it outright and moved on.

“We are as close as can be, Simon. As you said, what stronger bond can there be than sire and fledgling?” Raphael replied, sarcasm powered up to eleven. He didn’t want to have this conversation and perhaps if he just got Simon riled up enough he would leave him alone? It worked with Camille and Magnus at least.

“You’re more than just the vampire who made me, Raphael,” Simon’s voice was quiet, soft, and it did something strange to Raphael’s chest. “I just… I thought I was more than just another fledgling to you.”

Raphael dropped one of the cufflinks he hadn’t yet threaded through his shirt onto the dressing table. He looked at Simon, truly looked at him. It might be the last time he saw him like this, so open, so hopeful, and he wanted to commit it to memory.

  


If Simon wanted the truth, well, then he would get at least a portion of it.

“I have faced guilt every day for sixty years. Every time I see you now, my guilt increases,” Raphael admitted. He felt tired. “I suggested you become a vampire, I encouraged our friendship, I made you a target. Now you share this damned existence with me. That’s a guilt I will carry until I turn to dust.”

“You don’t have to carry that guilt!” Simon’s voice was shrill but Raphael didn’t want to hear some romantic notion of where the blame truly lay. It didn’t matter in any case. As long as he blamed himself, no matter what Simon believed, he would carry that shame.

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault your family will die, and you’ll live on, an unchanged teenager. It’s my fault you have to drink the blood of mortals to survive. It’s my fault you will never again be able to be in the same room as your best friend without either thinking how good she might taste, or how likely she is to attack you!” Raphael snapped. “Do not talk to a Catholic about guilt, Simon. You will lose.”

“I’m Jewish so no, I don’t get it,” Simon’s response was so fast, so flippant, that Raphael was temporarily confused. He shook his head.

“That can’t be your legitimate comeback to that?” he asked. Simon shrugged.

“You want me to argue through each point? Why? So we can go round in circles for a few decades trying to figure out who’s to blame the most and where the guilt should lie?” Simon asked. Raphael wanted to disagree but Simon seemed to sense that he shouldn’t let Raphael talk so he plunged on regardless.

  


“Here and now, I’m here, trying to speak to you, trying to clear things up between us. If you’re feeling guilty, fine, I can’t stop you blaming yourself. But I can ask that you don’t take that out on me,” Simon said.

Raphael stared at him. Simon thought he was being unfair somehow, and Raphael couldn’t think of any way he  _ had _ been unfair. He had avoided hanging out with Simon, certainly, and he’d sent him away whenever there was official business to be taken care of… But he’d trained him as much as he’d trained any other fledgling that came to the Hotel Dumort.

“I haven’t been mean to you,” he said. Simon rolled his eyes.

“We were practically dating and you went all ‘honor-bound friendship’ on me,” Simon said. Raphael felt his stomach clench. There it was. Simon had said it, Simon had somehow made it true. It seemed that Simon realised his own faux-pas in that moment because he raised his hands. “Oh I mean… Unless I misread the situation, which I totally might have done. I didn’t mean to say that I am against the friendzone or anything, I mean, that friendzone is great. I mean, there’s me and you in it, right? What could be-”

  


Raphael wasn’t sure what possessed him to move. Part of him was incredibly confused by everything his fledgling did, but the part of him was urging him forward. He paused, realising he had been centimeters away from kissing Simon to make him shut up.

Then Simon leaned in and finished the job. It was chaste, soft. Just a press of lips.

  


It made Raphael’s chest hurt with happiness. He pulled away, overwhelmed by what had just happened and more than a little ashamed at his own weakness. Simon’s hands went to his hips, resting there in a way that said he wasn’t going to let Raphael escape again so easily.

“ _ Es culpa mía… Yo no quería que pasase esto.  Por favor, perdóname _ ,” Raphael murmured, eyes flicking away from Simon. He knew Simon would fight him again if he said it in English, but at least this way he could express what he felt. 

“Sure to whatever it is you just said,” Simon said. Raphael rested his forehead against Simon’s so that the other wouldn’t see the sadness on his face..

_ “Eres un idiota,”  _ Raphael said softly. Even Simon had to know what that meant.

  


*

  


“There’s no magic involved,” Isabelle said suddenly, looking up from the sample she’d been examining under the microscope. Jung-Mi, who had been checking a different sample looked up at her with a frown.

  


“These pills. I bet if we got Catarina to check them she wouldn’t find any traces of magical tampering,” Isabelle said, sitting back in her chair. Jung-Mi’s confusion seemed to clear.

  


“Oh, yes, right. I forgot that we’re dealing with fairy tales,” she said. Isabelle smiled thinly.

  


“Don’t talk so lightly of fairy tales around Magnus. Last year fairy tales nearly killed him,” she said. Jung-Mi gave her a long look to try and assess whether or not she was lying. When it seemed like she couldn’t work it out, she sighed.

  


“I… Yes, well. So there’s no magic. Is that unusual?” Jung-Mi asked, getting to her feet and walking over to the sample that Isabelle had been testing.

  


“It means that this could have been done by mundanes,” Isabelle said. Jung-Mi’s expression was blank.

  


“Yes. Those people. Of course,” she said, taking the seat next to Isabelle. The shadowhunter chuckled.

  


“Mundanes are just… normal everyday people. Not vampires or warlocks or whatever. Humans. This might be regular humans,” she said excitedly. Jung-Mi’s eyebrows raised.

  


“Is there anyway to know for sure?” she asked. Isabelle took off her latex gloves and discarded them in the waste bin at her feet.

  


“Only if we can track someone who works with them and I’m not sure how to do that,” she said. “We’d have to ask Magnus.”

  


Jung-Mi thought about it for a moment, her brown eyes staring off into the distance as she did so. Her expression suddenly cleared.

  


“Didn’t you have a run in with the boy you were searching for?” she asked. Isabelle nodded, her stomach plummeting to somewhere near her boots. She had been resolutely not thinking about Simon. It was easier to focus if she didn’t.

  


“Simon. Yeah we did. He nearly killed Raphael,” she said. Jung-Mi didn’t offer comment on that, but she did lean forward.

  


“Is he not your strongest lead? Couldn’t you use him?” she suggested. Isabelle felt the anger that had been simmering, pushed aside, work up inside her again.

  


“Raphael refuses to look for him anymore!” she said. Jung-Mi looked alarmed.

  


“Why on Earth? He was so committed before,” she said, leaning back on her chair with an expression on her face like she’d found a particularly frustrating riddle.

  


“They were… I don’t know. Lovers might not be the right word. But it was his boyfriend,” Isabelle said quietly, looking down at her own hands. It was only now, saying it aloud to someone, that she realised how little she knew about Raphael and Simon’s relationship. She’d always assumed Simon told her everything, but the past few days with Raphael had made her more aware than ever that he must have only told her the things she expected to hear.

  


“Really? He didn’t seem the type to have boyfriends. Partners maybe, or perhaps a fling here and there, but something steady and vaguely cute?” Jung-Mi snorted dismissively. Isabelle felt a smile stretch across her face.

  


“I know. It’s hard to imagine someone like Raphael involved with anyone. You should have met Simon though. He was like a puppy dog in human form. Whenever he got nervous he used to ramble on and on about nothing. He had the kindest heart too. He would listen to anyone about anything for hours just so they’d feel better. And he had this sense of humor that was so sharp… What?” Isabelle paused, seeing Jung-Mi was looking at her with an amused expression.

  


“Seems Raphael wasn’t the only one who fell for him,” she said.

  


Isabelle felt a prickle of fear down her spine.

  


“What? No, that’s not how it-” she protested but Jung-Mi laughed, cutting her off.

  


“You don’t have to lie to me. I will likely never meet him and I’m not going to go running to Raphael to tell him that you’re in love with his boyfriend,” she said. Isabelle shook her head. It hadn’t been like that. It wasn’t like that. That wasn’t true and she would never...

  


“Me and Simon were never like that. We’re just friends,” she said firmly.

  


“Of course. Well in any case, he sounds like a lovely boy. Why has Raphael given up on him so easily?” Jung-Mi let the subject drop. Isabelle, grateful, tried to think of the reason. She didn’t know Raphael that well, but if she had to put herself in his shoes...

  


“I don’t know. He… I think he just… feels so deeply for Simon that it scares him so at the first sign of real trouble he balked…” she suggested. Even so, she wasn’t sure that was entirely right. She wasn’t sure that she knew what was going on in Raphael’s mind at all.

  


“Sounds like a pickle for everyone involved. But I’ll give you a bit of advice,” Jung-Mi leaned forward. “Don’t devalue your own worth. It’s obvious to me that you put your own feelings aside for Raphael and Simon to be happy. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t get to care, that doesn’t mean that you don’t get to feel and that doesn’t mean that you can’t be useful. You can look for Simon just as well as Raphael.”

  


“You’re right apart from about the whole me having feelings thing,” Isabelle said. She did  _ not _ love Simon.

  


“Of course I am. Now why are you still here? Go, find your vampire boyfriend and kick some serious ass,” Jung-Mi said with a wry smile on her face. Isabelle shook her head.

  


“Not my boyfriend.  _ Raphael’s  _ boyfriend,” she reminded her. Jung-Mi shrugged.

  


“From the sounds of things, he isn’t anymore,” she said. Isabelle had no idea what to say to that, didn’t want to acknowledge the way nausea settled in her stomach at the thought.

  


*

  


Raphael carried the box of Simon’s things into the graveyard. It wasn’t that he had a plan of what to do with it, not really, but he wanted them out of the hotel. Maybe he could leave them there and someone would remove it the next day?

  


He made his way to Simon’s grave, his feet feeling leaden, his arms tired. He kept his gaze firmly on the path in front of him. One step at a time until he got there and he… freed himself once more from whatever it was that this was.

  


When he got to the point where he’d have to walk off the main path, he looked up. His heart, already stopped, seemed to lurch anyway when he saw the figure perched on top of the gravestone beside it.

  


“Simon,” he said, voice barely above a cracked whisper.

  


Simon looked up at him, eyes narrowed and a smirk that was all fang worked up Simon’s face.

  


“Raphael. Are you really suicidal enough to come after me again?” he asked. Raphael shook himself, pulling from his last reserves of emotional strength to take a few steps forward. He put the box down on top of the dirt where Simon’s body had once rested.

  


“I came to pay my respects at the grave of the person I used to know,” he said, getting to his feet quickly. He did not want to be on the wrong end of Simon’s blade again.

  


“Yeah well, I’m still alive. Well, after a fashion,” Simon replied. 

  


“Apparently,” Raphael said, taking a few careful steps back. Simon seemed to be enjoying his reluctance to engage with him, seemed to be taking sadistic pleasure in tormenting him.

  


Just like Isabelle said, this wasn’t the Simon that they had known.

  


“You should be careful, Raphael. They’ll be coming for the whole Hotel next,” Simon warned. Raphael couldn’t stand the sick satisfaction that he could see spread across Simon’s face.

  


“They?” he prompted, because if nothing else, perhaps he’d finally get information for Isabelle so she could continue her foolish crusade.

  


“The people who did this to me,” Simon replied being purposefully coy.

  


“Who are they?” Raphael demanded. He was almost back at the path. A few more steps.

  


“Are their names so important?” Simon asked and he jumped off his gravetop perch, putting his hands in his pockets.

  


“A different question, why did they do this to you?” Raphael tried. It seemed that as long as Simon was having a good time dodging his questions, he wouldn’t attack.

  


“Because they see the Shadow World for what it is, a scourge on the world that needs to be wiped out,” Simon replied, his voice even, as though commenting about the weather. Raphael felt his heel crunch against the gravel of the path.

  


“And you believe that, do you?” he asked. The Simon he had known would have never referred to the Shadow World that way. Not when he had been so close to Luke, to Clary, to Magnus and even to the vampires of the Hotel Dumort.

  


“I…” Simon took a step forward and then something changed. He staggered, first one way, then another, then clutched his head. Raphael stared as Simon dropped to his knees. 

  


“My head hurts,” he said, seemingly bemused before his eyes went wide and he threw his head back and screamed. Blood began to leak from his eyes, his ears, out of the corners of his mouth.

  


Raphael reacted on instinct, crossing all the distance he had put between them and taking Simon into his arms. Simon’s body was taut, every muscle straining against a pain that Raphael had no idea how to alleviate. He reached out, pulling Simon against him, arms going around his back and rubbing circles against his shoulder blades.

  


“Shh… Simon, it’s alright. It’s going to be okay. Shhh…” he found himself whispering.

  


“ _ Rafa _ , it hurts… It  _ hurts _ ,” Simon whimpered. Raphael felt his throat tightened hearing his name from Simon’s lips once more.

  


“I’m here, I’m-” he began but Simon suddenly pushed him away hard enough that he sprawled a few feet away. He looked up in time to see Simon was struggling to his feet, blood streaked down his face.

  


“I need… They’re called Certitude,” Simon said. He was shaking from head to toe. Raphael got to his feet as fast as he could, taking a step towards Simon to reassure him but Simon took a few hurried steps backwards.

  


“Stay away from me! You don’t know what they can make me do!” he said before he turned and ran. 

  


“Simon!” Raphael called to him, but he disappeared into the shadows so fast that Raphael’s eyes could barely catch up.

  


A cold wind blew through the graveyard.

  


He’d said they could make him do things. He’d shown signs that he wasn’t healthy, that he wasn’t truly  _ Simon _ . It wasn’t that Simon had abandoned him, it was that Simon was being held against his will by something that Raphael didn’t understand.

  


Isabelle was right. Magnus was right.

  


They couldn’t give up yet.

  


He had to  _ know _ .

  


*

  


Raphael pushed the door to Magnus’ apartment open and wondered if the warlock would  _ ever _ get a key. Though he supposed Magnus had the entire placed warded, so he probably felt he didn’t need to.

  


He traipsed grave dirt onto Magnus’ rug as he made his way to the lounge. Once there he hung in the doorway. Magnus was pouring over some magical text or other, gaze intent. Raphael remembered, back when they’d lived together, how Magnus could get lost for days at a time in some magical conundrum.

  


Magnus’ ability to do hard work was only outdone by his ability to engage in frivolity.

  


“Raphael,” Magnus said finally, putting a bookmark between the pages and looking up. “Oh, so you’ve stopped moping have you? Good to see you, Pretty Boy.”

  


Raphael stepped into the lounge, feeling out of sorts. There was no point in rising to Magnus’ bait. It wouldn’t help the situation anyway.

  


“Where’s Isabelle?” he asked. Magnus put the book next to him on the couch and gestured for Raphael to sit down.

  


“She’s out looking for your baby vampire,” Magnus said. Raphael lowered himself into the seat opposite Magnus. He felt  _ old _ .

  


“Call her back. I found Simon. We’ve got leads,” he said. Magnus looked both pleased and alarmed.

  


“Are you injured?” he asked. Raphael shook his head.

  


“No. He was hurt more than I was,” he replied, thinking of the way Simon had shrieked in pain.

  


“You attacked him?” Magnus asked, surprised. Raphael shook his head tiredly.

  


“No. There’s someone who did this to him and we’re going to find out who it was and we’re going to destroy them,” he said without a trace of doubt in his voice. Magnus looked grimly satisfied.

  


“I told you the truth would make you feel better,” he said and got to his feet, dusting off his hands and drawing his cell phone from his pocket. 

  


“I’m glad you haven’t given up on love,” he said, giving Raphael a knowing look.

  


“We’re not in love,” Raphael replied automatically. Magnus smiled patiently and left the room, already speaking to Isabelle.

  


Raphael looked down at his hands.

  


He could say those words over and over again. He could write it on a badge and pin it to his shirt. He could have it tattooed on his forehead.

  


But he wasn’t even sure he believed himself anymore.

  


*

  


_ There’s a moment you have to be honest with yourself. _

  


_ I wasn’t quite there yet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline can be found [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/18_VXNtleIoyQZXUEB8exp2EzqwDiHsCbqDqsc5Pi_qo/edit?usp=sharing).


End file.
